


Do Not Tickle A Sleeping Dragon

by Empress_of_Trash



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Childhood Trauma, F/F, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Rivalry, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Morally Ambiguous Character, Multi, Past Child Abuse, Pureblood Culture, Pureblood Society, Recovery, Self-Insert, Slytherin Politics, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Trans Female Character, Undecided Relationship(s), Wizarding Politics, Wizarding World, Worldbuilding, author likes to chat in comments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-04-07 03:10:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 39,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14071644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empress_of_Trash/pseuds/Empress_of_Trash
Summary: Being a Chosen One is hard work. The Dark Lord of your universe is out to get you, people you love definitely die, and you have to suffer a lot. In fiction, it makes for a compelling story. In real life not so much. She isn't sure how she boarded this particular train but she wants off. Self-Insert. SI-OC.





	1. Rude Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> So I wanted to make a Harry Potter SI-OC, but I wanted to put them in the worst position possible.
> 
> So I made them Harry.

"Up! Get up! Now!"

She woke up with a start but refused to open her eyes. Her mind was slow to adjust to the sudden interruption, but she felt a quick and vicious urge to punch whatever was causing it. There was a rap on the wall immediately in front of her face. If she had been a little more aware she would have recognized why that was weird. Instead, she was following her usual reaction to being awakened much too early.

She went straight from confused and annoyed to murderous.

" _Fuck off."_

The harsh demand came out higher pitched than she intended but with an equally 'bitchy' tone the uncalled for wake up demanded. It sounded slightly strange, but she supposed that was because she didn't shout in the dorm often enough to recognize the way it sounded with the 'acoustics' her musically inclined friends talked about. The voice echoed back at her almost immediately making the room feel oddly smaller.

Something in the back of her mind stirred at that, but a quick snuggle into her pillow distracted her.

For a moment there was silence and she let out a sigh the haze of sleep dragging on her mind. Whoever had shouted, she didn't feel awake enough to try and place the voice, had shut up it seemed.

 _Good_ , she thought feeling a stab of viciousness. With how her body was curled up and aching she doubted she'd been asleep more than an hour. Her head hurt behind her left eye, a dull thud that reminded her of the precursor to a migraine. Which considering the sun had just been creeping up when she finally drifted off made sense.

" _What did you just say to your Aunt?"_  a  _male_  voice thundered as the door was wrenched open with a thud and her eyes flew open, stomach leaping into her throat.

Her heartbeat jerked to an unsteady rhythm as fear lit her every sense and sent her grabbing for the nearest projectile. Something inside her pulled tight.

The sight of the huffing purple face was blurry and  _unfamiliar_.

That sent her hands searching even more frantically as she found herself shoving her body back against the wall, which was shelved and wooden. Her fingers meet rough-hewed wood that scratched her as she made contact with and dismissed the little collection of goods settled there as potential weapons.

Her insides felt like an elastic band being tightened more and more as the man leaned forward screaming, though his words weren't registering for her.

One hand tightened around something small and metal at last as the other found the familiar shape of glasses.

She sent it flying straight into the man's face with unprecedented precision as a scream simultaneously came loose to warn her roommates. She didn't stay on the bed as the man spluttered and howled rearing back. It left a small space open for her.

She took off instantly letting her body follow the instinct to  _run_ , ducking through the strangely shaped opening. She barely took in the sight of the neat entrance way of a home  _she had never fucking seen_.

She saw the front door and the glass panels showing outside and went for it. The tightness in her snapped at the sight.

The door seemed to fly open before she touched.

She tumbled out into the sunlight and unfamiliar little suburb a high pitched screech of " _Vernon_!" and the sound of footsteps thundering after her with roar that sent her mind back to childhood. Fingers brushed her shoulders when she leapt off the front entrance and went running at full speed.

Her mind was blank as she choose a random direction along the idyllic street with identical houses and  _hedges_. She heard the roar of the man behind hear, her heart pounding in her head as the adrenaline helped her keep her legs moving, and screams from ten years before making her start shaking, first inside and then out. Only the complete inability to recognize any of the area around her and immediate fear kept her from falling down and hugging her knees at the memory. Instead her eyes burned and her mind stayed blank as she ran.

And ran.

And ran.

And ran.

Her lungs burned and her legs ached but she didn't stop.

She ran until the small suburb was a distant memory and the voices long faded away. She stumbled into a park going passed a few joggers and dog walkers. Finally she collapsed under a tree away from them and started gagging only to find her stomach empty.

Her breath came in rapid burning gasps. Her lungs began to burn. She choked unable to get a smooth inhale in. Her tears burned blurring the world even further than her vision did. She heard a shout behind her distantly.

_I've gotta breathe._

The gasps only got worse.

_Breathe._

Fear bubbled back up more vicious than ever. Her hands flailed instinctively to her hips to find only worn out sleeping pants and empty pockets. No inhaler.

_BREATHE DAMN IT!_

Her vision started to darken. The panic set in. Then something touched her back making her flinch forward. The only thing the stopped her from attempting to flail away was the smooth plastic shoved in her mouth. The shape was familiar. Her hand went to it pressing down on the trigger she found on top and inhaling deeply. The moment she completed the actions she felt her heart slowing, air coming in.

In increments of seconds, hours, decades, the air came back to her and so did the world. A hand was rubbing up and down her back connected to the body leaning over her on her left. The stranger was woman, she registered, the voice from that direction trickling in as she came above water.

"Shh, there you go. Just breathe. That's all you need to do." It was a soft soprano and unmistakably  _English_.

Her vision cleared, as much as it could without her glasses, and the rest of her body came back to her.

Her feet felt numb and wet in a way that meant they were definitely injured. Her head throbbed and felt light. It was a unique feeling that only followed panic and an asthma attack. Her throat was raw and the rest of her sore and covered in sweat. She was warm though she realized, finally noting the unexpected temperature for  _January_.

Slowly she removed the inhaler from her mouth taking in some unfiltered air. She looked down.

She wasn't wearing the dress she'd fallen asleep in, instead, it was a too large T-shirt.

Her boobs were gone.

Her hand, the one not clenching the inhaler, dropped the glasses held in a death grip and pulled at the collar. She ducked her chin to look in. A completely flat chest and thin scrawny body. There were no cuts or scars to explain the sudden absence of body fat either.

The stranger's hand was still going up and down her back.

"Where am I?" her voice came out croaking and rough.

It wasn't her voice.

Too high pitched and even worse  _accented_  and not the familiar soft drops of American Southern.

The stranger beside her took in a sharp breath. The movement made her look up through a fringe of  _dark_  hair and she found the other woman was significantly larger than her. The stranger was close enough that she could see the expression without the blur of bad eyesight. It was a gentle one on a brown sharply angled face, black curly hair pinned back by what seemed a dozen small little butterfly clips.

"You're in Little Whinging kid. Do you have, an," the stranger's face pinched and close up, mind clearing to a low level hysteria at the  _impossibility_  of this situation, she recognized the youth in it then. "An adult?"

_God, this kid couldn't be more than seventeen._

"I'm supposed to be an adult," she admitted not sure how to process the facts that were slowly building up. Her mind going back to what the people in the strange house had actually said.

_"your aunt"_

_"freak"_

_"Boy, are you listening?"_

The stranger's concern went to confusion and dubious. "You're what,  _eight_?"

"Ten," The words didn't make sense. But the protest came out of her offended and without her consent.

The stranger gave her a look, but eventually shrugged it off and began shifting awkwardly, face screaming that she had no idea what to do now.

"Look, I'm going to take you to the cop shop, alright?"

She starred and after a moment realized the stranger was waiting. She picked up the dropped glasses and slipped them on her face. The world cleared up significantly, still unfamiliar and still wrong.

She nodded.

The girl, too young to be anything else, she was even more certain now, helped her up. Putting pressure on her feet almost sent her sprawling and her eyes burned as the cuts screamed. She could now feel what the numbness had been covering. She could feel every tear and split, growing wider as gravity put pressure one them.

The girl followed her gaze and cursed when she spotted the blood on the grass.

"Bloody hell." There was a moment and then an arm went to her shoulder and another her legs.

"Not walking then." The girl looked and she understood relaxing and letting herself be swept up. She was way too light and small for a teenager to pick up so easily. The girl must have thought something similar because she scowled, but carried her forward.

"What's your name?" the girl finally asked as they made their way to the street that was waking up in what was clearly a  _summer_  morning.

The hysteria bubbled out in strangled laughter and more burning tears when she answered with honest despair.

"I don't know."

. . .

They barely made it into the police station, cop shop the teenager, Maggie apparently, insisted on calling it, when the question was answered. The angry man she had met upon waking up was waiting there, purple-faced and bellowing his black mustache bristling with his rage. She had ducked behind Maggie, who to her credit, squared up in the face of her obvious fear and the man's fury. Seeing the tense reaction of those surrounding them the man quieted under his wife's, the screeching woman she assumed, touch.

She didn't get to see the confrontation that followed though. She was led into another room to be bandaged up and petted over by an elderly woman, who was just as English as everyone else she'd met so far. Maggie had given her a smile, which she supposed was meant to be comforting.

Nothing about this situation could be made comfortable though.

The woman, a secretary, in neat clothes that looked new and she vaguely recognized as better fitting in the 80's, called her  _Harry._

While they waited the screaming started again making her flinch for a moment, but she quickly suppressed it mind spinning.

She had long gone passed this believably being a dream. It was too clear-cut, sharp and organized. There was no way her friends had the gung-ho to prank her in an elaborate way. This was real and she was in a different body. There was nothing that clearly explained the change of voice and lack of growth. Not to mention the way the size of the world had suddenly shifted. She was short, but her feet still usually brushed the ground when she sat.

She sipped the tea from the warm paper cup she'd been handed. The fact it tasted  _good_  made her insides clench. She hated tea, but this warm sweet mixture soothed something in her. It tasted familiar or at least smelt so.

No one she lived with drank anything beyond sweet ice tea and coffee.

Her hands shook and she settled the cup on the table beside her as the voices outside the room quieted again. She went back over her information slowly.

She was in England. She was ten, she knew that somehow. She was in a place named Little Whinging. She'd woken up in a  _cupboard under the stairs_. Everyone kept calling her  _Harry_.

She hadn't touched the door when she fled the house. It wasn't  _like_ she didn't. She  _hadn't touched_   _it_.

. . .

Some time and a few cups of tea later, the door opened and a police officer entered. She wasn't crying, not anymore, but her face seemed sufficiently distressed to make the older man's face smooth out from the scowl into a gentle smile. The man took the secretary's abandoned seat pulling it across from her. He settled his arms on his knees but kept his distance.

She felt oddly grateful for it.

"My name is Sergeant Bartholomew Rathburn. I have a few questions I need you to answer Harry." the man spoke in a deep voice that reminded her of the gravely rumble of her Papaw's voice from years of smoking. It was more reassuring than any smile. "Can you do that for me?"

She nodded, though she was unsure of her voice.

Sergeant Rathburn's face fell into a kind, sternness then.

"That's good. Now, first of all, you aren't in trouble Harry. No matter what you tell me you won't be in trouble. Not even with your aunt and uncle. So, I need you to be completely honest."

He waited for her to nod again and then smiled.

"Can you tell me why you ran away from home this morning?"

She hesitated for one moment and finally thought,  _fuck it_.

"I don't know those people."

That sent him leaning back, but he composed himself quickly.

She kept speaking before he could interrupt and make this harder. It all came pouring out, painful, unbelievable, and the  _complete truth_.

"I woke up in a place I didn't recognize and got yelled at by a large man I didn't know. So, I threw something and ran. I kept running until I got to the park. Maggie helped me calm down. She had an inhaler. Then she brought me here."

She took a deep breath.

"I don't understand what's going on. I didn't even know my name was Harry until you all started calling me it. I was scared and confused and  _they were yelling_."

This was clearly not a twist the man was expecting and she fell back into the chair shoulders slumping as exhaustion overwhelmed her and she spoke again with tears in her voice, head giving a sharp throb to the left.

"I just wanna go home."

. . .

It took another check-up, which caught a forming bruise under the hairline, but she,  _Harry Potter_ , was taken to the hospital to be scanned for a concussion. Hours passed being looked over by doctors as she processed the full name she had been supplied. Her  _Aunt Petunia_  and  _Uncle Vernon_  were left behind to be interviewed.

After they had finished looking her over and confirmed a minor concussion, she had been fed and allowed to use the bathroom. The mirror only confirmed her worst assumptions.

She now had messy black hair, bright almond shaped emerald eyes, and, when she lifted the fringe, an iconic lightning-shaped scar. She was no Daniel Radcliffe either. Tiny with a strangely fragile look that could have been nice in a fey way, if she hadn't known it came courtesy of  _malnutrition_.

She opened her mouth and closed it again. The strange child in the mirror did the same.

He looked exhausted, the bags under his eyes, only emphasizing the brightness of the green. She'd always wanted green eyes, she reflected searching fruitlessly for the smallest hint of blue-gray.

He looked frightened, confused, and vaguely nauseous.

His, her, front teeth were straight.

She stared and abruptly began laughing.

She kept at it until she cried and then laughed some more.

She was  _Harry_ Fucking _Potter_.

She was the main character in her favorite book series.

_She was a Horcrux._

She had gotten the Dursleys forced into an interview about possible child abuse charges.

She pinched herself. It hurt.

That just made her laugh harder as the tears spilled down her face.

This didn't make any sense.

Not a single tiny bit.

But it was real.

Her breathing returned to normal as her laughter faded and she looked over herself dully. She turned on the facet and cleaned her face to wipe away the evidence of tears. She closed her eyes and hummed, clicking her tongue and letting her mouth move and vibrate in a way that felt unfamiliar to it.

"Hm, hm hmhmhmhm, hm hm, hmhmhmhm," Came out of her mouth, tone off, but slowly forming into something recognizable as the  _Imperial March_  let her focus until the last lingering traces of hysteria faded away. She opened her new green eyes and met them in the mirror.

"I'm Harry James Potter," she told her reflection, listening to the unfamiliar rise and fall of the accent so unlike her former one.

She,  _Harry_ , nodded and quietly left the  _loo_. A quiet request to a nearby nurse led her back to her room. She settled in pulling up the blanket to block out the world and let herself think.

 _She would be Harry until she figured out if she could become herself again_.


	2. Bed Rest Talks

__

_He is going to be in trouble when_ ** _That Man_**   _gets home. He knows it. He feels tears prick his eyes and the fear start to make his limbs tremble. It only serves to make him angrier. He hates the fear. It makes him feel weak and small and insignificant and he is not._

__

_He is_ **_not_ **

__

_He wipes his eyes and feels something warm on his hand. He looks down and sees blood. His hands are shaking as he goes to clean it in the sink, taking the time to wipe the droplets off the floor before he does. It will only be worse if_   ** _That Man_** _sees a mess on top of everything else. He carefully wraps it, not daring to touch the medicine he knows is stored in the bathroom._

__

_They had started to count them after the last time he recovered too quickly after punishment. Bandages are allowed to be freely pinched though. They are important to keeping him healthy enough to do his chores._

__

**_That Man_**   _says chores are a necessary part of building character._

__

_He thinks he has built more than enough character over the years. His character is filled with hatred and despair and fury. One day he will make the man feel what it is like to_ ** _build character_** _. The thought makes him smile as he loses himself in a daydream of screams and pain twisted on_ ** _That Man's_**   _face._

__

_It allows him to breath for a moment and head back outside to examine the damage, mind calmer. The hammer is broken laying beside the half finished fence. A bit of red, from where he hit himself, stains the snapped wood. Then he thinks for a moment eyeing the bells in the tree._

__

_Noting how low the sun is in the sky he makes a decision._

__

_He raises his hand focusing. Nothing happens for a moment. Then the wood and nails slowly rise into the air and begin forming a fence. Sweat trickles down his brow as he focuses, hunger making his stomach clench. All he sees is wood settling and metal entering, connecting the pathway that loops around the small garden. He hears the beginning of a small jingling and ignores it shaking at the effort of the last few posts going in._ _When the hole is finished being patched he falls forward._

__

_His head ringing and he is gasping to catch his breath, but grinning with a fearsome joy as_ **_magic_ ** _, pure and beautiful throbs through his veins like a song._

__

_He sways forward insides buzzing with the feelings and the bright colors of it. And then he hears the chiming of the bells, sharp and clear, and the thud of a door closing. His smile drops as the fear returns anew washing over him, burning and freezing in equal measure._

__

" _You know the rules,"_ ** _That Man_**   _calls from behind him._

__

_He doesn't want to look up, doesn't want to watch it coming. But he does, defiant and determined, always._ ** _That Man_**   _looks almost disappointed at this. He tries not to feel the shameful fear and to focus on the rage as **That Man**  steps forward. When the pain comes though, he can't stop a scream and hates himself for it._

__

. . .

__

She woke up screaming and immediately ran to the bathroom to vomit.  _What the fuck was that?_ Harry demanded of her confused, fresh from sleep, from a nightmare, mind. Her throat burned and she threw up again, still not processing the weird dream. Only when she stopped, face flushed and hot, and the rest of her chilled could she focus on what she'd seen. She wiped her mouth with some toilet paper and stumbled to the sink to rinse.

__

That was definitely new. She'd been here for four days already and after the first day made it became clear her stay would be extended she'd been given a private room. The time and distance from people had given her a chance to calm down and  _adjust_  to the multiple levels of weirdness the situation had. She had fluctuated back and forth between meticulous planning and brainstorming, freaking out, bone deep grief, and an occasional bout of hysterical giggling. With this came something invaluable.

__

Memories, slowly trickling in through dreams. It was like how she pictured a Pensieve, only more gray scale and distant. At night, and sometimes during the day, she'd dream of Harry Potter's life. The dream-memories stayed with her and felt only somewhat connected. Like an old story that deeply resonated with her, but wasn't about her. It had given her better context of where and when she was. It seemed Dudley had a terrible birthday with her arrival and she thankfully had a little less than three months until Hogwarts.

__

The memories had helped her with convincing the doctors she was "getting better", but also made her stomach turn. Because what had happened to the little boy from the memories who felt almost like her if she had a less secure stance on her identity? It felt like she had killed Harry Potter and nothing in her could find a trace of anyone else.

__

This process led to the dark thought that she wasn't alone in this body when looking at her scar at night. Even if the boy was possibly gone.

__

It wasn't comforting.

__

The nightmare was new. Unlike the memories, this dream had felt vivid like she was living it, but now that she was awake Harry felt no lingering connection to it. This dream about this strange boy, she knew on a deep level was not her or Harry Potter, felt nothing like her memory dreams. It was clearly someone else's. Admittedly annoyingly vivid dreams about other people weren't too unusual for her once upon a time. The "stories" Harry dreamed always felt real.

__

She spat out the water, satisfied the acidic taste was gone and went back to settle on the bed. She needed to sleep and rest. Harry had to be on full cylinders in the morning. She knew someone from Child Protection, or whatever the English equivalent was, would be there in the morning.

__

If she was going to ensure she returned to the Dursleys, she needed to be at her best.

__

It had taken her almost seventy hours to come to the awful conclusion she needed to back to Number 4, if only temporarily. She had fought with herself over and over for hours before coming to the decision. Harry hated the idea. Honestly, if it had been the situation with a real child, not a mostly-grown woman in a child's body, there wouldn't have been a question. There's no way in hell she'd let a child continue living there. She couldn't as an adult with a moral compass and a survivor of child abuse herself allow it. Even for the "Greater Good".

__

Herself however was a different story. She was suddenly ten, defenseless, and with a giant target screaming "KILL ME"painted on her with the definite knowledge that Voldemort had a body of someone willing to kill for him. She couldn't defend herself and the Blood Wards were all she had. Beyond the first practical thought of "I don't have a wand or know how to fight" there was also the issue of her lack of knowledge of Wizarding Law.

__

Theoretically she could get removed from the Dursleys and taken into foster care.

__

But Dumbledore would hear about. Honestly, he had probably already heard about this. What was more, who knew how long it would take for the rest of the Wizarding World to know. And without a clear line of who can adopt her, since Sirius was in jail, who knew what could happen. For all she knew, considering the bribery and corruption, her custodial guardianship could turn into a giant auction to the highest and potentially most deadly bidder.

__

When she left the Dursleys for good, and she intended to, it would be on her terms with a clear plan. For now the Blood Wards gave her some cushion to figure out a way to kill Voldemort. Because she sure as Hell was not letting the Second Wizarding War and Ministry take over occur if she can help it. She was going to Hogwarts, learning all she could about Horcrux (and hopefully how to remove one from herself), learning defense  _the moment she has a wand_ , and will decidedly not be Dumbledore's perfect Gryffindor. She was not a hero, though she would do her best to save the World while saving her cowardly self dammit.

__

But step one was, unfortunately, getting back to the Dursleys to regroup.

__

She was not looking forward to returning. The memories Harry had gathered so far pointed to a Canon timeline. There was lack of true physical abuse, though there was an occasional inappropriate swat and threat of one.

__

They  _restrained_  themselves to neglect, emotional, and psychological it seemed. Harry had been fed enough to live and grow, received minimum clothing and shelter, and was treated as an unwanted indentured servant. Any physical aspects came from Dudley's bullying, but that seemed to have wound down as Harry had become better at avoiding and running. So, it she had Canon Dursleys. If that was any comfort.

__

Even as she came to the decision though the flashes she received made her blood boil. Made her feel the same rage that the nightmare boy had felt. Harry had always  ** _loathed_**  the Dursleys, seeing first-hand how they dealt with a child under their care made her want to vomit and pay them back for every hurt.

__

She'd never gotten to confront her abusers, but she would be damned if the second she was able to leave she wouldn't get revenge for the little boy whose life she was borrowing.

__

When she had money, access to media, and a way out she would rip them apart. That thought let her settle back down and close her eyes. For a moment she hesitated feeling the phantom of the fear from her dreams. She chased it away with the thought of something happy. For all her troubles she would be going to  _Hogwarts_. Images of a castle, a vast library, and flying brooms lulled her back into a quiet sleep.

__

. . .

__

Harry was reading  _Watership Down_  when the Social Worker finally arrived. Harry had been adopted by the nurse taking care of her, a motherly woman who reminded her painfully of her own mother. Miss Kathleen had noticed she was bored and arrived the next day with a stack of books. Books alone were more than enough to endear her to Harry, but then she'd spotted some of her favorites ( _The BFG_  and  _The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe_ ) and Miss Kathleen had been firmly listed as her favorite person so far in the world. After she finished the first three in one day the amount had increased along with the difficulty of the reading. Miss Kathleen had seemed eager to indulge her habit, the hazel-eyed, round-faced woman admitting none of her children shared her love of literature, and had happily settled into talking about books with her.

__

_Watership Down_  was a particular happy find as Harry had been reading it Before and was more than happy for a chance to finish it. She hadn't put it down since it had arrived with her breakfast to Miss Kathleen's amused understanding.

__

She was reading the scene with the meeting of Cowslip when the man slipped in quietly and it had taken him clearing his throat for Harry to even notice. Instantly her mind snapped back from the journey of Hazel and Fiver and the others, back going stiff as she twisted around to stare at the new person who had invaded her space. She gripped the book like a weapon, before she registered the police officer beside him.

__

It was the man from her first day her, Sergeant Rathburn, as he had introduced himself, the serious man who'd interviewed her.

__

"Oh," she said, still stiff but lowering her potential projectile. It was time then. Anxiety clawed at her stomach. She took a calming breath and straightened into something more relaxed, settling the book and her hands into her lap. She looked at the men with polite attention.

__

"Hello" Harry greeted, causing Sergeant Rathburn to smile slightly and the man beside him to give a regal nod in return.

__

"Sorry to interrupt your reading, but I was hoping you'd be willing to talk to my friend here. He specializes in helping out children and would like to talk to you a few moments. I know it is difficult but we have to ask about your family. He's like me, nothing you tell him will hurt you. I need you to be as honest with him as you were me."

__

The man's voice was the gentlest rumble and like before Harry was reminded of her grandfather and felt a pang that made her smile at him.

__

"Yes, sir, that's fine." she returned voice coming out quieter than she intended in response to the man's low tones.

__

Sergeant Rathburn gave her that slow smile. "Mr. Brenner here would like to talk with you alone. But if you want, one of the nurses can come and sit with you."

__

Harry shook her head appreciating the offer all the same, but wondering at legal precedence. How did interviews weigh when the child's guardian wasn't present?

__

"I'll be fine." she told him when he seemed to hesitate. The sergeant nodded gave the man, Mr. Brenner, a long look and Harry another smile before he left to sit outside, closing the door behind him.

__

Alone with him, Harry turned to examine Mr. Brenner and found herself being similarly looked over by surprising, soft gray eyes. Mr. Brenner wore a suit, well cut if not expensive material, but of simple design that complimented his figure. Harry had to fight the urge to actively check the man out. She'd always been a little week to men in nice suits and Mr. Brenner clearly knew how to wear his. One of her favorite movies had been  _Kingsman_ , not a little because Colin Firth. In a fine suit. Taron Eggerton as well. Mr. Brenner had dark black hair that was only finely peppered with a bit of gray, a classically handsome face, and despite relaxing his body in a friendly manner one adopted with small children and startled animals, an unmistakable regal air about him. Plain suit but quality suit, boring shoes, and a friendly posture and he still looked like an aristocrat.

__

He reminded her of Francis, the very perplexed wealthy Frenchman her sister had befriended. Lovely, from a high society family, and even at his most relaxed not quite able to hide his background.

__

His expression was what made her most wary, thoughtful and watching. He was getting as much from this examination as she was. Though what sort of conclusions he drew were beyond her. But it was more than that. There was something almost  _familiar_  about him and small bit of her screaming something. It put her on edge.

__

She decided this stand-off had gone on long enough.

__

"I'm Harry." The name both did and did not feel odd falling from her tongue now, having absorbed some of those memories. Her first instinct was still to supply a different one and something twisted slightly everytime she said it.

__

"Harry Potter." she added as if he wouldn't know. "It is nice to meet you Mr. Brenner."

__

He smiled and sat down in the chair beside her. "And I am pleased to meet you as well, though I wish it was under better circumstances. My name is Marius Brenner. You may call me Marius or Mr. Brenner."

__

Mr. Brenner-no, Marius, she decided and that name made the odd feeling in her so much worse-offered his hand and she took it for a firm shake.  _Not too tight, don't linger_ , she heard her friend, an army officer, recommending.  _And eye contact_. Marius looked somewhat amused, but still perfectly serious.

__

His first question was not what she expected.  _Can you tell me how you hurt your head?_  Or  _What's a normal day at home?_

__

Instead he said, "That's an interesting looking cover.  _Watership Down_ , and it is about rabbit?"

__

Marius was peering at the deceptively innocent picture of a single rabbit in some thistle. Harry's lip twitched, well if that's how he wanted to play it, she was down. She allowed herself to visibly brighten as she leaned forward and eagerly began talking. She did honestly enjoy book talks even if it was just a step in manipulation on both sides.

__

"It's about rabbits and it's a children's book, but don't think that means it is something silly or full of fluff. It's a not-quite-appropriate children's book." she told him primly and then quickly got into the story. "See first of all it has a lot of implications about man's relationship with the natural world."

__

And she was off. Harry carefully did not smile as she noticed the slightest widening of surprise in his expression at the not-quite-appropriate for an eleven year old answer she provided.

__

Hiding her intelligence would cause trouble in the end, tempering it with childish behavior, which she was sure she could manage, was the better solution. Better to be a clever child than someone "hiding" something. That would get her labelled shady, for lack of a better term, quicker than anything.

__

Marius listened as she talked expression always intent and thoughtful. His questions are always carefully thought out and related to their discussion, but he was slowly leading her through literature and cleverly coached her to get a lot of her with low pressure. It became almost a game on her part. She didn't want to reveal too much, but she needed groundwork for outing the Dursleys later. So, she slipped in little tidbits in between discussions on Cinderella's step-family and  _The Little Princess_. She made sure to include talk about her "chores" and the strict "rules". She wanted room for implications later nothing concrete now. When they got to  _Matilda_  things had become so on the nose without being obvious she was honestly impressed. That took a kind of scary intelligence and cunning she could respect.

__

It helped that he never spoke to her like she was a child, instead treating her seemingly with the same respect for her opinions he would give and adult. Miss Kathleen, for all her kindness, definitely babied her to a degree and it made conversation  _hard_. Four days was a long time not to have a good talk even for an introvert.

__

Truthfully all this talk of chores for one child and not the other, being locked away, and given lesser clothes she wasn't even sure how much they could do. She vaguely remembered something about it being harder to get someone on child abuse that wasn't physical, but was unsure how things stood in England at this time.

__

Talking through  _Matilda_  though also made her wonder about something else, especially during his focus on Matilda being different from the rest of her family. Could this man be connected to the Wizards? Did they have people in government for magical/non-magical child situations? Harry Potter would be a trigger word for a big fuss, so it was possible. Was Marius a side character she wasn't remembering?

__

She had been silent too long though, because Marius gave her a searching look.

__

"Harry is something wrong?" he asked in that soft aristocratic voice. Harry ducked her head and decided to take it as an opportunity.

__

Here's hoping those acting classes paid off.

__

She took a deep breath and allowed a tremor to enter her voice as she spoke not looking up at him.  _Be sad_ , she order herself internally.  _Think of sad things. That horrible nightmare when we had to shoot our dog. When we had a nervous breakdown and almost lost all our scholarships. Granny Grunt's funeral and Mammee yelling at us for not crying._

__

It wasn't enough she searched frantically for the feeling she was aiming for.

__

_We may never tell Mom or TJ or Jake we love them again. Mammee and Papaw too. Our family is **gone**._

__

The thought, one she had been avoiding, felt like a punch in the gut. Her throat  _ached_  and her insides felt raw. When she spoke it was with a strangled, shaky tone that came out more a whisper.

__

"Are they mad?" Harry asked, shoulders slumping.

__

"Is who mad?" Marius asked, but Harry was sure he had an idea.

__

Harry looked up at him through her bangs to find him watching her expression carefully taking it all in.

__

"I thought," she swallows, throat dry from all the talking. "I thought they might not want me anymore."

__

Marius's expression smoothed into one of thoughtful consideration. His voice was soft when he spoke.

__

"Why would you say that Harry?" She was pretty sure he thought she was gearing up to admit to something terrible.

__

She looked away centering herself on her cord of loss. "Because I'm not home yet. I said a bad word and I hit Uncle Vernon. I thought they might be mad."

__

Harry focused on the memories.

__

_Tatum looking at her face stunned and quickly softening as she steps forward and says something that soothes the terrible fear inside her, "Me too." Her heart simultaneously breaking and putting itself back together when that terror left her. The fear that her sister, her_ **_best friend_ ** _, would hate her. Hugging tightly as they realized they weren't alone._

__

_Jacob bending over awkward, fists clenched and looking slightly panicked and furious not sure how to stop her crying, but unwilling to leave her alone. Sitting down eventually and admitting, voice strained and nervous that he had problems too. He didn't get sad like her, but angry. Him promising to get better and that anger in him deflating into something quiet and more thoughtful. Holding hands until she calmed down._

__

_Mom seeing her face and just knowing arms open and pulling her into a lap she hadn't crawled into for comfort, since she was much smaller. Curling up there despite being almost the same height and crying there like a child into her mother's shoulder. A small hand gently untangling her curls as she did. Listening quietly to her talk._

__

"I want to go home." Harry said eyes burning and insides scraped out, hollow in a way that felt like it would never be filled again. "I want my family back."

__

The truth  _hurt_  worse than any wound.

__

She heard Marius's breathe out sharply at that and when he spoke it almost sounded like he was hurting a little too, his voice more emotional than before.

__

"Harry I need to know something. How did you get hurt?"

__

She looked up and knew he saw how raw she felt. That she could answer honestly now, the memory having joined her fuzzy collection. "I got caught by some neighborhood bullies and I didn't tell anyone about it. I was embarrassed and they were bigger than me."

__

Harry didn't mention that the "bullies" had included her new little-older cousin.

__

Marius's silence was a thoughtful one as he reached over and took her hand. She looked up in surprise and felt him place something, small and hard there. His face was sharp and certain.

__

"Harry, I'm going to get you home. Things will change now and it might be difficult, but I'll try and find a way for you to go back  _and_ be happy there." He folded her fingers over what he placed there and smiled, a slightly crooked and surprisingly charming one. "This is my card, it has my name address and phone number. If you ever need to tell someone anything about what a bully or an adult does to you feel free to call me. I'll help, I promise."

__

Harry accepted the card easily, looking down at it and certain this could come in handy. It was a soft eggshell with lovely black calligraphy spelling out  **Marius B., Social Worker**  followed by a number. Her heart pounded uncertain and fearful, even as she rushed to wipe the tears away before they could fall.

__

"Thank you." she whispered to him.  _For listening and book talk if nothing else._

__

"Of course," Marius answered, smile firm.

__

He went outside to join Sergeant Rathburn and she didn't see him for two days. By that time the tests were all finished and she was cleared to leave.

__

. . .

__

Marius returned to explain that her "aunt" and "uncle" would be getting her back with certain conditions. Namely their home being inspected and they had been place in parental counselling, or rather parent class.

__

Harry hoped this didn't go completely off the rails.

__


	3. Dursleys Delighted

__

The day she was meant to return to her "family" dawned with some unexpected gifts.

The first was sent along with Marius, a "welcome home" present from her new aunt. Taking the clothes blank faced she looked them over before putting them on. Since she'd gotten here she had spent most of her time in hospital gowns. Clothes should be nice.

She set them out in the bathroom and was amused to find they still bore the tags. They were only a few pounds and, judging from the material and her own experience working in retail, from some sort of bargain store. They also weren't her size she discovered when she put them on. The shirt was a dress, the pants needed to be secured by the belt so  _thoughtfully_ included with it, and the shoes were just a bit too small, pinching her feet.

Not surprising she supposed as Petunia had never actually had to bother learning the little boy's size. Still it was better than the threadbear clothes she had started with. The only thing that fit were the underwear and socks, which she was pleased with.

Harry gave herself one last look over before leaving to go join the waiting Marius, who was dressed in a spiffy new tweed suit that he still managed to look stylish. Her folded hospital gown was in her arms. He had been joined by Miss Kathleen while she was changing. The sight of the woman brought a smile to her face. Miss Kathleen's face though quickly lost hers when she took Harry in and turned furious.

Harry stepped back instinctively tense and the anger faded into a forced calm.

Then she noticed the woman wasn't wearing her uniform.

"You aren't working?" Harry asked. It was meant as an observation but turned into a question at the end.

Miss Kathleen carefully forced a smile and Harry took her in. Miss Kathleen's long brown hair was out of its usual professional bun and hanging in curls around her face. The woman wore a brown and red printed dress, large earrings, and heels straight from the eighties. With the then stylish curls surrounding her hazel eyes she looked even more like Harry's mom and it made her throat close up.

"I came to say goodbye Sweetheart." Miss Kathleen said face going instantly soft.

"Oh," Harry let out faltering at the genuine affection she saw there. She ducked her head feeling a mixture of warmth, shyness, and a small stab of longing for home at the emotion. When she looked down she saw the book sitting on top of the bed and went to grab it needing something in her arms.

"Um," she said face flushing and looking up at Miss Kathleen uncertainty. "I was going to leave this at the front desk, but since you're here."

 _Watership Down_  made a small bridge between them as she offered it to the woman.

Miss Kathleen reached forward, hands covering hers and pushed it back towards her. "No, Sweetheart, you keep it. A gift for all those fine conversations."

Harry was not going to cry. She really wasn't, she swore to herself. Her eyes burned though as she cradled the book to her chest, instantly more valuable for its gifted status.

"Thank you," Harry said, managing to get it out through the lump in her throat. She said it again, putting as much sincerity as she could into the sentiment, making her voice break a little. "Th-thank you."

Harry was familiar in both lives of the rarity of genuine kindness and compassion. Miss Kathleen had been both kind and thoughtful to her.

She said it again barely a whisper, eyes watering harshly when it hit her this was probably the last kindness she could expect for a while.

"Thank you."

She was pulled into a warm hug before the whisper fully left her and she tensed, at first. But then she relaxed allowing herself to accept the comfort from the almost-but-not quite stranger. It happened in small increments, but by the end she felt something almost audible crack and Harry clung back, wrapping scrawny arms around the woman. She covered her face, and any traitorous tears, with Miss Kathleen's shoulder. Neither of them spoke as Harry was cradled in kindness and one last moment of weakness and warmth.

Then the arms moved. Miss Kathleen leaned back and Harry let go. Instead of moving away completely, Miss Kathleen used her hands to cup Harry's face and look down at her seriously.

"You're a good, intelligent, amazing child, Harry. Whatever happens you must not believe anyone who says differently." Miss Kathleen said voice painfully sincere and expression clear. She gave Harry a searching look.

"Okay, sweetheart?"

Harry reached up and squeezed the hand on her left cheek.

"Okay." she said in agreement, weakly but a promise.

"I'll hold you to that." Miss Kathleen said in that same strange smile. They stood their suspended in time a moment. Harry's eyes took in the gentle hazel eyes that seemed much shinier now and Miss Kathleen was looking her over just as carefully.

"Harry," a smooth voice interrupted, soft and slightly regretful. Both of them jumped a little to find Marius looking down at his watch, giving them privacy. At their movement though he looked up face clearly apologetic.

"We have to go meet your Aunt and Uncle." Marius explained and stepped forward to make eye contact with Miss Kathleen. "They're expecting us in about thirty minutes."

Miss Kathleen nodded and finally released Harry, taking a step back and looking down at her with one last smile.

"You go on then Sweetheart," Miss Kathleen said softly. "Can't be late. Not a sweet, polite thing like you."

Harry nodded, clutching the book like a lifeline and stepped passed her only to hesitate.

"Good-bye," she found herself whispering, silly but sincere.

Miss Kathleen swallowed hard before answering in a thick voice. "Be well."

If Harry's face was wet when she got into Marius's car he didn't mention it. Instead he passed her his absurdly soft, monogrammed MB handkerchief and looked forward. She folded it and returned it ten minutes later with a quiet "Thanks." Neither of them spoke as Surrey flew by. Marius's response was a slightly, awkward but sincerely meant pat on the head. Harry smiled weakly at that. It was the first gesture that wasn't graceful and it made her not the subtle tension under his careful mask.

"Bad with emotion?" Harry said, before she could stop herself. Sometimes her mouth really ran ahead of her.

Marius gave her a quick glance with his grey eyes before returning the smile, eyes going back to the road almost instantly.

"Bad with tears." he corrected. "My wife likes to tease that I've chosen my profession poorly given the amount I usually work with."

Harry blinked surprised by the honesty, but happy for the distraction even as her fingers quietly traced over the words  _Watership Down_ idly. "Did you?"

Marius seemed to seriously consider her question, thinking about it through two stop signs before answering in a soft, deliberate manner.

"I think children need someone who knows what it's like to fear you are unloved, to be lost, to have troubles in a family."

Harry looked away and watched as the identical houses turned into a dim blur.

"I think you're right," she said to the window remembering how the man had negotiated her interview and thinking of when she'd actually been this age and what differences someone like Marius could have made.

The rest of the drive was peaceful silence and tracing the outlines of a gift, Harry Potter's first real one since the Dursleys.

. . .

The Dursleys were both exactly what she expected and very different. She had seen the briefly when she arrived and had Harry's vague memories, but she had a firm image in mind of the Dursleys, the movie actors overpowering her imagination as it sometimes happened. It was a good reminder that she should consider her memories carefully. Misremembering something in this case could be disastrous.

The two met them on the front lawn, standing prim and proper making sure the neighbors could see them welcoming their "poor nephew" back home.

Petunia and Vernon were considerably younger looking than their movie counterparts and even more so than she had imagined herself. It shouldn't have been surprising really. They were still in their thirties.

Vernon was a large beefy man, clearly some was obviously fat, but some of his bulk seemed to be muscle. He was a "firm fat" as Harry dubbed it, still somewhat in shape under it. He towered over her and she could see the phantom of the boxer he briefly mentioned he used to be. His hair was thick and black, though not as large as his black moustache and his eyes were hateful things. He was much more active and lively than expected dressed in a polo and slacks and looking over Marius's suit with a pinched expression.

He reminded her in look and unpleasant expression of her biological father. A monster from her youth who inspired nightmares. It made something inside her tremble even as it stirred up long held back fury and made her want to bare her teeth at him like some furious animal. She actually wanted to punch him without him saying a word.

Petunia still had an unwrinkled face, her blond hair carefully styled, makeup thicker as was popular she had noticed. Her eyes were a startlingly lovely shade of baby blue that made Harry have a brief pang of jealousy, missing her own fiercely in that moment. Petunia was wearing a new pink dress combined with a no-doubt expensive necklace of pearls her posture straight and face serious. She looked more like a soldier preparing for wore the pearl and dress and perfect home her armor and weapon.

The most surprising thing though was her lips. They were a delicate shape, pretty and identical to the ones Harry had found in the mirror. For all people had claimed Harry looked like James throughout the book, she wondered if there were small hints of the Evans family that were overlooked. The shared shape was only barely noticeable, but a tangible connection between them.

It made Harry feel a renewed wave of loathing to the Dursleys. They were her least favorite characters. The ones she hated the most. Voldemort was the kind of almost cartoon evil that is hard to grasp, the kind you never want to see. Umbridge is the kind of evil that comes from abuse of power, the kind of systematic evil people face daily. The Dursleys were personal though. Personal to get and personal in their evil, because they were a betrayal of the strongest bond she'd had in her life. Her bond to her siblings. No matter what happened she'd always had the two of them.

Petunia betraying that kind of bond and actively hurting Harry, especially with this small proof of connection made her want to break something.

Instead Harry smiled. It was her brightest, most charming smile. The one she had shown customers when raging inside. The one that made people call her "that sweet girl". The one that made her look harmless and helpful.

Petunia, at least, faltered at the response clearly expecting something else. For a moment there was actually a flicker of something like pain, before the woman broke eye contact and looked away. Her expression settled on annoyed.

"You're my aunt and uncle," Harry said brightly, a monster hissing inside her baying for blood. She continued to smile, looking down and then back up slightly shy. "I remember you a bit. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon?"

Vernon looked flummoxed at what she was sure was the first time he had seen this kind of expression on his "nephew's" face. His face began to flush and he turned on Marius voice forceful and slowly rising.

"Now see here, we were told the boy had been fixed! If he isn't why did you bring him? We shan't be made responsible because you people aren't taking care of him properly!"

Vernon leaned up into Marius's space at that and Harry tensed when the man's beefy finger stabbed Marius sharply in the middle of the chest. He looked like he was frothing himself up into a good rage when he faltered suddenly. Marius's hand removed his gently and Harry looked up, curious at the silencing.

Marius was smiling as well.

It was a cold, unpleasant thing, very different from the warm one always sent Harry's way. It made Harry shiver and reminded her of a shark's grin. All teeth and ready to rip you apart with them.

Harry decided she had always liked sharks anyway.

"Mr. Dursley I take my responsibility to the children in my charge very seriously. Just as you no doubt take your position as Harry's uncle. I suspect it is only concern for your nephew that makes you act so aggressively." Marius's smile relaxed into something almost polite. "We are sending Harry home exactly because of how well he has done. The doctors believe his returning memory is a good sign and that returning to a familiar, stable, supportive environment with his family is just what he needs. We know you and your wife will do all you can to assist in his recovery of course."

Vernon huffed, regaining himself and puffing up. He actually looked offended when he snapped, "Of course."

Then he looked at her unflattering expression and said, slightly pinched. "We'll make sure to give the boy what he needs."

"I knew you would," Marius said smoothly and stepped forward placing a hand on each shoulder, looking the two adults dead in the eye.

"Harry and I would love a tour of the home. Harry to reacquaint himself and I, of course, for a routine check before we release Harry back to you."

Harry felt herself relax at the somewhat novel experience of having an adult firmly in her corner and ready to fight for her. Especially a man. She'd had her Papaw and Mammee, but by then most of the fighting had finished. It had been her siblings and their mother fighting against the drowning forces on their own. Support was a nice change.

Petunia, yet again the cleverer one or at least more aware, laid a gentle, warning hand on her husband. She smiled, forced but more relaxed than before and squared up to Marius.

"Of course, Mr. Brenner we would love to give you a tour."

With that she turned on her heel, Vernon following behind after a brief hesitation, cured by looking at curious eyes from the house beside them. Marius followed leisurely, a hand firm on Harry's shoulder as he lead her. Marius have Mrs. Next-Door-Neighbor a charming smile that had the woman blushing and tittering slightly as they followed the Dursleys into the near brick building.

The first thing she noticed was the careful arrangement of photos in the entrance tracing the growth of Dudley Dursley. She could see the little beach ball and actually felt her lips twitch at the sight. Harry moved along tracking the progress of the baby into a severely overweight blond little boy.

She, or rather  _Harry_ , was distinctly absent as she knew he would be. Marius's noted this as well, but remained smiling. Petunia and Vernon led them through their tidy perfect home. It was obscenely neat, though Harry noted the cracks in this. No doubt from the stress of the week. A streaked window, dishes in the sink, a bit of dust beginning to settle on the shelving.

She felt herself shudder as memories slowly trickled in of this "pleasant" household. Over there by the sunroom was the place Petunia had swatted Harry on the mouth when he was three for asking after his "mummy". The innocent looking stool tucked out of the way was bought so Harry, at six years old, could start "paying his way" and start cooking breakfast. She had found an old burn scar from the boy's first experience with hot grease. The dent in the side table from where Dudley had shoved the boy into it cracking his nose and resulting in Harry's first broken nose. Petunia had been furious about the blood and the carpet had to be replaced.

Harry brushed the dent quietly as she followed them upstairs back to the kitchen and they stopped in front of a posted  _chore chart_. Harry tried not to stare as Marius looked it over thoughtfully. It was definitely a chore chart. Plain, but organized with perfect blue penship each chore was written out on the day of the week beside the name of the person performing it. There were two names.

"I see you have expanded Dudley's responsibilities." Marius mentioned mildly, tracing over the careful list.

Petunia replied, stiff but proper, Vernon silent and fuming beside her.

"Yes, our first  _class_ ," And here she could not completely hide her disdain at the idea. "Focused on making sure both children were treated equally in both affection and responsibilities."

She sounded like she was quoting someone when she said it and not someone she particularly liked or respected.

"Dudders will be cleaning his room, picking up in the computer room, and helping his father in the backyard." Petunia said looking at Marius carefully in the eye. Harry noticed the clenched fist, knuckles white pressed against her side. "The-Harry will help me in the garden, the sitting room, and his own bedroom." Her expression grew almost challenging, daring Marius to correct her.

"The boys will take turns cleaning the upstairs bathroom."

Marius nodded. "That sounds very fair Mrs. Dursley." He looked at Harry pointedly and continued. "Your house is lovely, now would you mind showing Harry's room to me?"

Petunia nodded at the not-quite order and they went upstairs.

Harry was reeling at the implications. The situation felt tense in a slightly different way than she'd anticipated. She had expected fury, even defiance. The Dursleys were prideful, entitled people fully prepared to believe in their own rightness. They were acting much too subdued. Something was off.

Petunia opened the door and Vernon held back letting us enter. Harry had known what this room was supposed to look like. It was Dudley's second bedroom, a storage for ill-used and broken items the spoiled boy wasted. It was supposed to be like living in the land of misfit toys.

Harry stared now.

The room was clean, freshly so and did not have the same feel of a storage shed. The furniture was old but perfectly serviceable, with a new bed set on it. The toys and the general detritus of the room had been cleared away. Harry's little treasures, old carefully guarded, had been pulled free and littered the room. A desk was set up in the corner, Dudley's long unused school books and supplies from early years nearly organized. Shoes, second-hand out not falling apart, formed neat little lines along the bed. There was other things, little touches, here and there, which had been bought and arranged. It was a staged room made to look like Harry lived here. It was both a concession and filled with what could only be bribes.

As Dudley's parents they were used to using bribery to get what they wanted. The new shoes and wardrobe Marius inspected filled with new clothes. The toys, cheap and clearly purchased without regard to interest, but sitting out for use were sorted along the wall. The biggest, most obvious bribe though was a small frame beside the bed.

Harry leaned close and recognized It instantly. How could she not recognize such iconic bright green eyes. Lily Evans, not yet Potter, smiled brightly caught in laughter beside a smiling tall, blonde girl. They were both in Sunday dresses, holding hands, and looking sweet an innocent. Harry picked it up and looked at the red haired eleven year old. It had to be right before she was revealed to be a witch. Before their relationship fell apart. Beside it was a book. Clearly old and well-loved. Harry picked up a old copy of  _The Wind in the Willows_  and opened it to find the name Lily with a gently looping 'y'at the front in the unsteady scrawl of a child.

For a moment a part of her that wasn't quite herself wanted to cry and hug the book tight to her chest at this tangible connection. Harry realized dimly that these gifts would have been the first time the boy would have known he looked like his mother. This was the bribe for silence prepared and left innocently in the open.

Harry set the book down gently and looked up to find Petunia and Marius watching her carefully.

She smiled and said, "Just looking through Mum's book."

Petunia looked like a strange mixture of triumphant and stricken. Marius though looked soft.

"A book of your mother's?" the man asked, knowing by know her love of them and making the natural conclusion of the book's importance.

" _The Wind in the Willows_ ," she said and set  _Watership Down_  beside it. "An old one, but a good one." She turned back to him and answered in a more cheerful voice. "I like books with animals."

Marius nodded and Petunia looked startled but hid it. Vernon was shifting, with his ever present scowl and looking increasingly impatient.

"You've seen it then. Satisfied?" the man snapped, pacing around and rolling his shoulders like an anxious bull in a pen.

"What about our Dudley then? You can see we have a good home. When are we getting our son back?"

Petunia lost some of her composure at that and her expression became one of genuine pain at separation from her much lover son.

Marius seemed to respond to it, losing his hostile edge as he reassured her.

"Dudley's case is slightly different. He was placed in a home and the paperwork must finish processing his arrival. After that, so long as my reports find nothing wrong, we can bring your son back to you."

Harry heard the implicit knowledge there and barely repressed her instinct to gape. Dudley Dursley, who she expected to welcome her back with a snarl of "freak" and a fist, was being essential held for her improved treatment.

Petunia choked on something like a sob and Vernon looked impotent with rage.

"And when will that be?" He demanded.

Marius's smile was perfectly polite. "Three days to a week following my second assessment of your home. Until then try to bond once more as a family, attend your classes regularly, learn how to smooth over your family's edges, and then I promise you, you will be ensuring Dudley comes home."

He reached out to cup Petunia's hands. "He is staying with a very nice old couple in the country. From what I understand he is being spoiled by them somewhat and is eager to come home, but is content and well-cared for."

Petunia did sob at that her lip trembling. Vernon pulled her back to him and wrapped a comforting arm around the skinny woman.

Harry watched it all unfold stunned.

The Dursleys led him out, but he paused stopping to awkwardly hug Harry.

"Remember my number Harry. If anything happens contact the police and then me."

Marius pressed something into her hand and looked her in the eyes sadly. "You're a brave child. Stay brave, but do not be afraid to have a god cry."

In Harry's hand was the handkerchief.

Marius released her and left.

The Dursleys were left looking at her with an odd sort of fearfulness. They both knew Dudley's return depended on her. The child they'd abused ten years.

Harry smiled at them sweetly. This, now this would give her an advantage she hadn't expected.


	4. Winning Little Whinging

__

_It has been a few days since I last wrote to you, but I needed to settle some things. The last day of school was yesterday. Your teachers are still confused about how exactly to handle the situation. I think more of them were concerned about you than you ever expected._

 

_The art teacher, Miss Fleming, cried today when I said good-bye. She says gave me a small sketchbook and some colored pencils. I've seen some of your drawings, Miss Fleming kept them all, and since I know no one has told you this you should know you are a fantastic artist Harry. I remember when I was your age. Stick figures were my forte. When you get back don't be afraid to keep it up._

 

_You are more skilled than you realize._

 

_Marius stopped by for “tea” yesterday as well. Petunia was so confuddled. I think it's hard for her to get used to doing so much of the house work alone. She was incredibly dissatisfied with the “state of her home”. I almost spilled some tea on her new white curtains out of spite, but decided to hold back on the more petty sides of revenge._

 

_For now._

 

_The only significant thing that happened was we got a new wardrobe that actually fit us. Still second hand stores and chain stores, but Petunia noticed that the neighbors opinions seem to have changed from “that scruffy delinquent” to “that poor boy”. She can read the atmosphere that woman. She had a sort of clever viciousness and adaptive nature._

 

_What Petunia doesn't know is that during my “wandering about” I have been making sure to meet your neighbors and help them out. I have been carrying groceries, holding babies, and conducting a one woman campaign to make you the sweetest child on Privet Drive._

 

_The new young mother in Number Ten thinks you are a saint after I gave her some old family colic cures and volunteered to babysit a little so she can get some sleep. Her name is Audra Huxley and she has now become your most outspoken defender. On Wednesday, she and Mrs. Number One, who I am still working on, got in a very public scuffle about you._

 

_There is a very polite little Civil War going on between the ladies of Privet Drive currently._

 

_Audra is quite popular you see and Mrs. Number Three’s cousin-in-law, so her book club has officially cut Mrs. Number One. Mrs. Number One retaliated by not inviting Mrs. Number Three and Audra to her weekly and much coveted teas. Only she didn't know I've been helping Mrs. Number Five’s old mother with her groceries and sorting through her mail for over a week. So when Mrs. Number Five arrived she spent the entire evening telling Petunia, who was invited, what a “little darling” she has for a nephew._

 

_And it spiralled down from there. I'm rather certain there will be blood as they are now getting ready to compete in some summer gardening festival against each other as well._

 

 _Meanwhile, Petunia is in the middle as_ **_both_ ** _groups keep showing up to their support during the Dursleys “unfortunate” time. One side is firmly on the stance I'm a liar and the Dursleys are being framed. The other is saying it is a misunderstanding and they are sure the Dursleys are making sure I'm properly cared for. Both though are condemning the “rumors” with disgust so Petunia just gets to listen to everyone telling her how horrifying the idea of locking a child in a_ _cupboard_ _is. Her pinched uncomfortable face is one of the small joys in my life._

 

_Meanwhile the men seem to remain largely oblivious of the war going down._

 

_Audra’s husband, Christopher, has also taken a special interest in you. They only have a daughter right now so he's delighted to have a “boy” to teach “manly” things to. I haven't corrected him about my gender or his assumption on my lack of knowledge on cars. But I'll include some notes so you’ll be able to talk to him._

 

_So, the first thing you need to know…_

 

_...and after we finished getting covered in oil they let me clean off. I finished your homework while having a bit of tea and cake. Baby Sally is a darling and spent the entire time pulling on your hair. Sorry about that, but expect an affectionate toddler who I have spoiled incessantly to cling to you. She is usually a very sweet, well-mannered baby and quite happy._

 

_Petunia looked horrified when I got home, but Marius was there and I happily told him about our new friends. He seemed approving so Petunia shut it. I also mentioned how tired I was, casually, from all the “extra” work and was sent up to change out of the oil clothes. When I came back Petunia looked like she was sucking on a lemon._

 

_I don't think they'll try violating their chore chart again._

 

_Vernon has been oddly quiet lately. He may be sinking into a bit of a funk. Every time Dudley doesn't come with Marius he cycles through angry walrus to deflated bag. He seems to have been lingering in depressed lately, while Petunia seems to be getting sharper and angrier._

 

_I'll write again soon._

 

_Love,_

_Other Harry_

 

. . .

 

Harry closed one of Dudley’s unused notebooks and put it back into the hidden space under the loose floorboard so helpfully described in _Goblet of Fire_. She had made sure to keep carefully notes for Little Harry so he wouldn't be too confused upon his return. Her “Daily Reports” stayed in one notebook while the others, safely hidden away, had extensive notes on the plot, horcruxes, and the people Harry would meet in order to help him when she was gone. She owed it to the boy for hijacking his body even if it was by accident.

 

Finished with one of her daily chores she rolled back up into her back. Besides the social sabotage she had been planting the seeds for, tense interactions with her “family”, and the occasional bright moment with the Huxleys her life was really quite empty.

 

School, which she had found was unpleasantly still in attendance, was finally over. That had been an eye opener. When Harry had said he was alone he had not been joking. The other children treated him like anathema. Not bullying but leaving him alone. The fear of Dudley Dursley the bully was strong. Dudley’s gang has seemed a little befuddled without the large boy their to lead the charge. She was honestly surprised they hadn't tried anything. Teachers were yet another kettle of fish. They mostly ignored her as well, though she had noticed quite a few whispering and looking guiltily in her direction.

 

They seemed somewhat divided on the “truth” of matters as well. Only one, a Miss Friedman, seemed convinced she was still a “lying little troublemaker” and eyed her homework distrustfully when she turned it in completed and undamaged without Dudley there. The others had been casually horrified at her change in mood and slightly cheerful explanations to why her homework was suddenly perfect. All the work that had been lost because of Dudley or switched out with his assignments were being updated as she easily blew through new versions of them.

 

Miss Fleming had been a surprise. She existed as a warm, but unremarkable person in Little Harry’s hazy memories. Standing out for her neutrality and occasional startling moments of kindness. She wasn't one of the boy’s major teachers so he did not pay her as much mind.

 

Harry, with her more adult mindset, noticed the nervous woman taking a stand now and had clearly been fond of the boy. It was her, Harry noticed, who had led the change in attitude towards him.

 

She was very young as well, probably younger than even Harry had been “Before” only twenty-one she'd guess. While admittedly a year didn't really give Harry an edge, Miss Fleming have the impression of someone younger with her nervous speech, brittle expression, and large eyes.

 

Out of school now and with the woman's presents carefully hidden away for their proper receiver she wondered what to do with her free time. She was quick with her chores, so they took no time. Though Petunia had taken to following her around when she dusted eyes ready to find a mistake. The way she would run her finger along a shelf to check the dust put Harry in mind of her step-father when he was feeling like being an asshole and looking to start a fight.

 

Petunia Dursley wanted a fight and a reason to punish Harry, now that she had to be careful to find one.

 

Harry made sure not to give her one, enjoying the frustration the negative attention and helplessness caused in the woman.

 

Harry was a bit vindictive when she felt like it after all. Petunia squirming was a specific kind of cathartic enjoyment.

 

But without school it would leave her with a lot of free time. As much as she was genuinely beginning to like the Huxleys and even a few other less loathsome members of the neighborhood she was putting on an act for them. Harry wanted a place in which she could relax. If she wanted to keep this up and maintain her sanity she needed a “safe harbor”.

 

Marius was the closest thing she currently had, allowing her to drop her guard a bit. But he was here for a purpose and not something she would have for the entire time she was here.

 

She also needed more books. She had read through _Watership Down_ and _The Wind in the Willows_ at least half a dozen times each by this point. She really hadn't realized how much constant stimulation she was used to. Stranded in the 90’s without internet, her book collection, video games, and friends to fill the time.

 

The library could help in that regard. Now she just needed to find it.

 

. . .

 

Supper with the Dursleys was always a fraught time. It was when the absence of Dudley seemed the most prevalent.

 

Harry’s first night Petunia had accidentally set Dudley’s place out of habit. When she saw the woman had burst into tears and Vernon, looking gutted, had followed after her. Harry had her first meal in silence. Since they still weren't back by the time she'd had seconds she cleaned up, packing up the food in plastic containers and loading up the dishwasher the Dursleys perversely had despite having spent the year since they'd purchased it making Little Harry wash them.

 

Once there was nothing left to lollygag with she'd headed upstairs. She’d wiped the table down from sheer habit though she wasn't sure if it was hers or Little Harry’s. When she had passed the main bedroom the two adults were on the bed sitting, Vernon reassuring Petunia, who was dabbing her eyes.

 

Harry had knocked on the open door frame and when they looked up told them their supper was in the fridge. They'd both looked startled and she'd received a nod, smiled and left them be.

 

It hadn't really been odd softness at distress. Harry just couldn't stand wasted food.

 

Since then there had not been in more tears, but certainly no warm fuzzy family moments. It had been confined to terse silence until last night Vernon had finally broken it by tentatively beginning to talk of his work. The Dursleys had settled into a quiet conversation amongst themselves ignoring Harry, but it had certainly felt better than the silence.

 

As Harry sat down she made sure to smile at her “family”. Vernon looked away quickly and Petunia passed her a filled plate not quite making eye contact. Her smiles and friendliness unnerved them more than anything. It seemed to in particularly distress Petunia and Harry had realized, after a quick comparison, Little Harry had also inherited his mother's smile. Seeing your dead sister smiling at you from the face of her son you abused should be unnerving. Especially with the Dursleys under the impression Harry did not clearly remember the abuse. Harry hoped something about it ate Petunia up at night.

 

Tonight was no different. Harry kept her bright smile as she ate Beef Wellington and eventually the Dursleys settled into sullen silence. Harry waited until Vernon had finished his first serving to speak.

 

“Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia may I got to the library tomorrow?” Harry asked watching their reactions.

 

They looked at her with shock as if she was a bit of furniture that had decided to suddenly start speaking up. She kept up an expectant smile.

 

Petunia pressed her lips together and cut in before Vernon could.

 

“No.” she snapped. “Your Uncle is golfing tomorrow and needs the car. He doesn't have time to take you.”

 

“Why would you need the library anyway?” Vernon added, face achieving some of his past confidence as he sneered. “Bloody waste of council funds. You aren't in school so you don't have homework.”

 

“I like reading.” She she said face serene in a way she had learned unnerved him. He preferred people affected by his puffing up and to react otherwise threw him badly.

 

He looked at her as if she had announced her hobby was eating mud.

 

“You have books be happy with that.” Petunia said.

 

Harry pressed. “Yes, but I've read them.”

 

“Well read them again. The library is Great Whinging and you shan't be going.”

 

She nodded and went back to her food. Petunia looked grimly pleased about having denied her something. Harry decided she would need to get up early tomorrow.

 

. . .

 

Greater Whinging was approximately a mile away from Privet Drive. For some people this seemed an unreasonable walk. Harry very thoroughly disagreed. She had always been a proud owner of multiple library cards from the three counties around her hometown. When she went to college, and before her car, Frankenstein,she had walked to the county library anytime she wanted books she couldn't get elsewhere.

 

She woke up early, finished her chores with a determined efficiency that had the Dursleys scowling and made some sandwiches for lunch, while Petunia wasn't looking before heading out. A map had been acquired from the Little Whinging tourism bureau, a small little shop that was more souvenir shop than anything. It was beside some old.historical buildings that Harry found lovely but Vernon complained were, much like libraries, a waste of money. The telephone booth, bright red and a bit delightful to see in person, was beside the post office and helped provide her with the address. She'd carefully outlined her route using the post office as a starting point and took off with a skip in her step, hauling everything in the ratty old backpack she'd found in the back of the closet.

 

The morning air was warm and Harry made a point to give a friendly wave to the slightly confused drivers who passed her by. It didn't take her ten minutes to reach Greater Whinging and after stopping for directions she found the library easy enough.

 

Greater Whinging was a good deal bigger than Little Whinging boasting of status as a city, barely, over the smaller town. It had a library, the schools, a full grocery, a small surgery, and Smeltings Academy standing proudly in the distance.

 

Smeltings was built in one of those old historical building that Vernon hated and had a large fence surrounding it's grounds and athletic fields. It was up the hill from the library. Harry could see it from the parking lot as she ate a sandwich outside for a quick breakfast.

 

It looked like the fancy private school she'd won a scholarship to when she was younger. Somehow though it was a much less happy version. More Hill House than a Hogwarts. The building itself looked unfriendly.

 

As she brushed the crumbs off herself and headed into the cheerful little building she supposed there was something to be said about the “atmosphere” of a place reflecting the people there. If Smeltings turned out people like Vernon Dursley as a matter of course she doubted it was anything beyond a traditional Petri dish for growing bullies and snobs.

 

The atmosphere of the library, in contrast, had Harry smiling and her shoulders relaxing the moment she saw the comforting sight of the stacks.

 

From the outside it was a cheerful little Tudor style house, sitting squat and wide amongst flowers and a fence. Its white exterior was pristine crossed with the dark black wood and brightened by flower boxes by the window. There was a small iron sign dangling that read “Whinging Library” with an open book under it.

 

Inside the multitude of windows allowed for a lot of natural light that was colored by the stain glass that had replaced some of those in the back allowing for color displays against the walls opposite. It was a rather small library, but lined with shelves and tables. As she explored she found one room even boasted several old computers looking brand new. An old man was scowling at one as he slowly typed something in. Another room had lower shelving that Harry could touch the top of, patterned rugs, soft furniture and educational toys available for children. A younger woman was surrounded by four children who were eagerly listening to her read _The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe_.

 

It looked care worn, but had a happy air of a place well loved by its inhabitants.

 

Harry let out a relieved sigh as she grabbed _The Hobbit_ and went to find a corner to relax in. She could start researching later. For now she decided she'd relax with a small slice of home in a familiar story.

 

. . .

 

Harry began to walk to the library every other day, switching off to allow her time to help Mrs. Pears with her mail and make sure to stop in to see the Huxleys. Petunia eyed her with suspicion every time she left and was clearly unhappy with how happy Harry seemed. The toss up between not having to look at Harry and Harry being happy about something was clearly a tough debate for the woman.

 

Apparently being around Harry was worse and she'd started to leave to go visit her friend Yvonne when Harry left for the library.

 

Yvonne was an interesting feature in Petunia’s life. She was the complete opposite of what Harry would have pictures for such a conservative woman like Petunia’s best friend. Harry had stayed with her once during the Dursleys weekly parenting classes.

 

Yvonne was a blonde prettier and happier version of Petunia in a lot of ways. She also seemed in many ways her opposite. Yvonne was fashionable and clearly more successful, independently wealthy. She was a trust fund baby who had worked her way up to dominate a lower level fashion magazine. She dressed well, cursed, smoked, drank, was unmarried and divorced. She had a university degree in business and seemed to be someone horrifying to a conservative Vernon and Petunia.

 

She was not the hyper traditional feminine image Petunia strived to maintain.

 

But she was just as prejudice in the same ways. She disapproved of immigrants, of different religions, of the poor. Vernon may disapprove of her not having found herself a husband, but as his own sister hadn't and any time they spoke together It was in total agreement he overlooked it.

 

Besides money could forgive much in the eyes of the Dursleys who were always striving for more and Yvonne had that. Harry and Petunia would always separate at Wisteria Lane and neither spoke the entire walk over.

 

Harry was a bit surprised by the almost peacefulness of this wordless agreement not to talk about Petunia disappearing into Yvonne’s for hours on end and Harry to the library.

 

She had been visiting so often she was a familiar sight to the librarians who greeted her by name and with a smile. Harry had made a point to give a good first impression. She had this thing with librarians. They like friends parents and the elderly found her precious. She made sure to stay on their good side as she found the librarians liking you often lead to them asking you about books you'd been wanting to read when book ordering time came around.

 

Harry had yet to meet one she did not like and could not eventually woo to her side.

 

She was also becoming familiar with the regulars, some of which she'd seen on Privet Drive or at school.

 

A quiet girl who never spoke during Harry’s time at school was there as much as Harry. She learned her name was Charlotte and had started sitting near the girl for quiet company. The younger girl, all nervous energy and peeking up shocked from her long fringe of blonde hair, had only recently started relaxing seeming to realize Harry wasn't going to bother her.

 

There was also José Jenkins, a very old man with a heavy Irish accent, who happily told her about how his mother had left Madrid for Ireland for love of his father. He was a cheerful, chatty old man she helped work the computers and find romance books for his wife.

 

Then there was Miss Partridge a twenty-something working on her education degree and volunteered to read to children. She looked like how Harry had always pictured Miss Honey and acted similarly. The woman reminded her painfully of one of her best friends Katie who was of a similar disposition.

 

Harry, after her initial visit, had devoted herself to information gathering. She dragged down old dusty English Law books and read the Children Act of 1989 until she knew it backwards and forwards. She had gotten more than a few odd looks during her initial trips, but after she also started to look through first aid, survival books, knitting patterns, and every kind of fiction imaginable the librarians accepted she had eclectic taste and read anything that interested her. Which was true, but they also did not realize exactly how practical books like basic emergency first aid and plant guides along with folklore books were about to become to her.

 

During her reading she had eventually stumbled upon something that almost made her choke on her lunch, which she had been allowed to have in the employee kitchen since she was there so often.

 

It was a blue leather book with a gold outline of a man in athletic gear wearing a Wizarding hat. It was an older book, and she'd found it in the fiction section. The front had one of those stickers indicating it had been donated by **Mr. and Mrs. Hamish Bowles** . It was a 1930 reprinting and then the first sign of something odd was the first page saying _The Official Autobiography of Angus Buchanan_. The name triggered something in the back of her mind. She knew the name but not in what context she heard it.

 

And then she found the title.

 

_My Life as a Squib._

 

Harry choked and then laughed so hard she had to smother it with her hand. She kept giggling as she ate her lunch carefully leaning back to not get any on the book.

 

This book was her first sign that the Wizarding world was real and it was an incredibly comforting thought, but it also lead her down a path she had yet to look at too closely.

 

History.

 

She noticed it as she devoured the book eagerly reading of Angus’s journey to Hogwarts and leaving his home. Harry had always been fond of Regency and Victorian romances and they left a very basic understanding of English parliament and history during this period with her. She noticed the difference in a throw away line listing important figures attending the rugby match.

 

The Prime Minister was wrong.

 

Gladstone had been in office. Harry had gone looking and found other names were changed or people didn't exist.

 

The events and certain huge names remained the same, but there were other blaring differences. And there were gaps or off explanations for huge fires or mass disappearances. Magic left gaps all through history. The folklore sections was overflowing with mentions of witches and wizards and old stories. She camped out there tracing the changes in history and discovering secret societies, **that still existed,** dedicated to magic and belief in its existence.

 

Muggles were not quite as ignorant as expected. She traced the number of deaths that came about from one particularly violent anti-magic group. They weren't all friendly either. Hidden in between she found people who were clearly in the know. Those whose childhoods were shadowed in mystery. She had a list of secret squibs and Wizarding folk she planned to compare.

 

She was almost certain Anne Boleyn, who existed in a slightly different incarnation, was a witch. Elizabeth though was, to her best guess, a Squib. Some of Shakespeare’s plays contained new lines and there were new plays that hinted at magic. Famous authors and artists and people who hadn't existed before.

 

This world wasn't just her world with magic it was like stepping into an alternate history novel.

 

She had been going over a fascinating book on Roanoke disappearance, a surprise find in a small English library, when she looked up to find one of the librarians waiting for her.

 

She let out a quiet sigh, but closed her book and hovered over her pile.

 

“Which one?” She asked.

 

The woman have her apologetic smile before replying, “The Hand Maiden’s Tale.”

 

Harry nodded and passed it over with regret. She, unfortunately, could not check out books without parental permission for a library card. She refused to allow Petunia the chance to turn her down from spite though and instead was waiting to force her into giving Harry what she wanted.

 

She could have forged the signature, but she wanted Petunia to have to sign it. It wouldn't particularly harm the woman in any way. Forcing her to actually do something to make “Harry” happy not just meet the standards to get Dudley back after years of Little Harry’s misery being a source of Petunia’s happiness was the point though.

 

Harry would have to do it soon though, she was getting tired of having to turn books in only mostly read.

 

. . .

 

Harry got her opportunity the second to last week of July when she had began to keep her eyes out for owls. She had just finished a quiet breakfast between herself and Petunia when the doorbell rang. Harry decided to get it as she was already beside it.

 

When she saw who it was she began grinning.

 

“Marius!” Harry chirped genuinely pleased to see the man and heard a loud splash that sounded as if Petunia had dropped whatever she had been ‘pre-cleaning’ before filling the dishwasher.

 

The man laughed as Harry danced forward her good mood bubbling over into a hug. Something sharply calculating in her recognized this opportunity for what it was. Marius settled his arms around her in returning the hug and was smiling softly when they separated.

 

“You seem happy?” He stated though it almost seemed a question.

 

Harry nodded in answer and strained over her shoulder, gleefully shouting, “Marius is here!”

 

She grabbed the man and lead him into the sitting room despite his having been there several times before. He was in a dark blue suit today and his buttons had the same symbol as the handkerchief he'd given her.

 

“Aunt Petunia was just finishing up breakfast,” Harry explained as Petunia rushed in looking distinctly ruffled, her blonde curls slightly eschew and her blouse wrinkled. “There she is. I'll go grab my things then!”

 

Marius looked at her curiously at that, but Petunia was focused on the man wearing a determined expression. Harry suppressed a smile as she grabbed her bag, made lunch, and pulled out the form. She lingered over the tasks allowing them a chance to settle before she threw something new at them.

 

She lingered at the door listening to Petunia recount her latest class, which focused on children's self-confidence and the duties of a guardian in building that up and on Harry’s growing popularity in the neighborhood. Harry strolled in interrupting her with a cheerful “Got it Aunt Petunia!”

 

Both the other adults startled at that. Petunia looked at her clearly confused and wary and Marius simply curious and watching.

 

“What?” Petunia snapped and then quickly modulated her tone. “What have you got?” She paused. “Dear.”

 

Watching Petunia playing adoring aunt was pretty darkly amusing in how terrible she was at it. It usually made Harry tempted to abandon her plans to do something more immediate. This one though, was almost natural sounding.

 

“The permission slip.” Harry said, tone implying Petunia clearly knew what was going on. “You were going to sign it before I left remember? You said I could get a library card.”

 

Marius smiled at that. “More books Harry?”

 

Harry laughed. “You can never have too many. I've been visiting a lot, walking with Aunt Petunia, and since I couldn't always finish them I'm getting the card to take some home. It's an early birthday present!”

 

Marius nodded approving.

 

Harry smiled and gave Petunia the same look she had the day of Harry’s return. It was a look that was an order to go along and a bribe. Harry wasn't including the bribe though and she was certain Petunia understood. Harry had been pushing the boundaries slightly, but now she was making a point.

 

Petunia needed to sign it. If she said anything else she would be denying the beautiful lie of family harmony. Willingly spending time together? Birthday presents? All of those were good signs to Marius. Changes were good. And the meant one step closer to Dudley.

 

Harry made eye contact as she offered the slip.

 

“Right Aunt Petunia?”

 

Petunia met her gaze and spoke quietly. “Of course dear.”

 

It almost sounded sincere. Harry smiled and offered Petunia a kiss on her cheek.

 

“Thanks Aunt Petunia.” She said and wondered if anyone else heard the hiss in it.

 

Something must have shown on her face because Petunia shuddered as Harry lingered and their eyes met.

 

Harry was smiling as she leaned away grasping her prize.

 

“Bye Marius.” She paused and said deliberately.  “Bye Aunt Petunia.”

 

The first book Harry brought home was on Changelings. She left it in the living room, opened on the page mentioning what happens when the family they are left with mistreats them. When she sat down to eat the next night Petunia looked at her warily.

 

Harry answered by very brightly interrupting Vernon’s asking Petunia about hers to tell both of them about hers. Vernon looked shocked and appalled and Petunia, she looked as if Harry had just confirmed something for her.

 

The next time they were walking there was a thoughtful silence and one sentence.

 

“You remember.”

 

Harry hummed, but answered. “I do hope I'm not given any reminders. I'm starting to miss Dudley.”

 

Petunia stopped scowling at her when she did her chores. Books appeared at her bedside.

 

. . .

 

Harry had should have realized things were going too well. When the Dursleys left her with Mrs. Figg, who was designated watcher now that she was off her crutches something felt off. And not just because the Dursleys had been subdued, Harry suspected Petunia talked to Vernon.

 

Harry actually like Mrs. Figg and enjoyed spending time covered in cats and free to pet them. She was excited because the woman had mentioned that she had new kittens when they passed early this week. Harry was eager for a distraction from the fact no Hogwarts letter had arrived yet.

 

Not even one. Her birthday was tomorrow and something was wrong. The feeling had been with her all week and it had twisted her up inside with anxiety. Playing with kittens should have been a relief. But the moment she walked inside it only made her feel worse.

 

Mrs. Figg looked nervous as she lead her towards the sitting room instead of the laundry room where Trouble had hidden her kittens away.

 

“I have a...a friend visiting,” the woman warned eyes flickering to the room and licking her lips. The gestures made Harry’s mood drop and her back tense up.

 

“A friend?” She questioned suddenly wary and senses prickling. Her hair was standing up and she had a bad feeling.

 

“Yes,” Mrs. Figg said and straightened, seeming to force herself calm. “Be polite, he's a very important man.”

 

Harry was sure she knew who it was before she entered the room.

 

She was right.

 

Albus Dumbledore sat on the puce colored, stiff coach covered in cats, his long beard covering the front of an old fashioned purple Muggle suit. He looked up upon their entrance and smiled blue eyes twinkling.

 

“Ah, Mister Potter,” Dumbledore said as Harry’s throat closed up and her heart beat double time. “A pleasure to meet you at last.”

  
_FUCK!_ Harry shouted and dropped her gaze to the floor. She felt like she was going to vomit. This definitely was not the plan. 


	5. Dumbledore, Draughts, and Other Disasters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, fair warning there is a flashback and it is not pretty. My friend had to skip it so I decided to post a warning. Look for italics and center and read at your comfort level.

Albus Dumbledore was a very tall man, which was already a point to making Harry uncomfortable with him. She had never been comfortable with strange men, especially those significantly larger than her. Marius had been one of those rare exceptions.

Dumbledore's strange appearance was either an artful statement or a terrible disguise. Considering his penchant for wearing things that even wizards balked at she wasn't sure what the bright purple suit was. It gave him a distinctly odd appearance when combined with his long silver hair and equally long beard. Like a Gandalf in modern clothes.

Or a Dumbledore in Muggle ones.

She was very much not making eye contact as Mrs. Figg fussed and settled them both down. Harry took the love seat in the corner, the furthest from Dumbledore and framed on both sides by cat trees. Her lap was quickly filled with a tabby and a ginger boy hopped off the tree to curl around her shoulders. She focused on petting them pleased with the excuse to keep her eyes down. She made sure to give the tabby, Mewlificent, who had recently been acquired and Harry had been allowed the honor of naming, a thankful scratch behind the ear.

She could feel Dumbledore's eyes on her and took a shuddering breath raising her own to the man's chin.

Harry had thought there was a possibility of the man doing  _something_. But considering how willing he had been to allow the Dursleys to get away with abuse for years she hadn't suspected this. At most she had been waiting for an ominous threatening letter for Petunia.

She had been hoping to avoid interacting with Dumbledore. She wanted to let Little Harry establish the extent of their relationship. Besides the man was unnerving even without the fact he could  _read minds_.

Which did he need eye contact to do it? Or was he like Queenie and just picked up on things? Was he reading her mind now? Did he realize she was an imposter?

Harry felt herself tensing up with each frantic thought and pinched herself. She let out a slow breath forcing her muscles to relax. He couldn't read her mind if she focused on something else.

"How do you know my name?" Harry asked finally, settling on what she assumed would be the most natural question. Filling the emptiness left by Mrs. Figg, who had gone to get "tea".

_How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore and a Scotsman, forgot in a little spot in the Caribbean by providence impoverished grow to be a hero and scholar?_

She sang the words carefully in her mind tracing through the familiar rise and fall as she waited for his response.

Dumbledore chuckled, in a warm grandfatherly manner, and she saw his smile under his twice broken nose. "I suppose introductions are in order."

_The ten dollar founding father without a father got a lot farther by working a lot harder._

Harry nodded and saw the man shifting. She ducked to avoid his gaze, making sure to feel the beat of the soundtrack in her head. And only that.

_By fourteen they put him in charge of his first trading charter._

"I am Professor Albus Dumbledore of Hogwarts." He said voice light and airy.

"Professor? Is that like a doctor?" Harry asked shifting for words and heart hammering.

_Then the hurricane came and devastation reigned. He saw his chances drip, dripping down the drain._

Dumbledore hesitated for just a fraction of a moment, but Harry was so hyper aware she caught it. "No, Harry. I am a teacher. Hogwarts is a special school." He swallowed. "Not a hospital."

Harry suddenly recognized the cadence of this conversation and was tempted just for a moment, so tempted her mouth burned to open. She almost said 'I always knew I was special.' She almost looked at him and said, 'I can talk to snakes. They come to me, whisper things.' She had more control than that and kept her lips shut nodding.

She sang louder.

_He put pencil to temple connected it to his brain, wrote his first refrain, a testament to his pain._

"Hogwarts," Dumbledore said without even a bit of hesitation. "Is a school of magic. For young witches and wizards, like yourself."

Harry dropped her gaze, trying not to focus on that and instead said, "No."

Little Harry hadn't believed easily and neither could she.

Truthfully, a part of her, the part from childhood who had loved fantasy and always wanted to believe in stories and fairies and magic, but had been crushed by reality wanted the proof. She had been trapped her in Privet Drive and besides the door had yet to see herself perform any real magic. One of her worst fears was that  _she_  herself did not have any magic unlike Little Harry.

Something in her ached to see those childish dreams fulfilled and proven real.

"I'm just Harry," she told him earnestly echoing the original words that should have been spoken.  _I'm not Harry_. "I can't have magic. It isn't real."

There was something almost sad when Dumbledore spoke next, "Your Aunt and Uncle did not explain to you?"

Harry tensed suppressing a laugh and continued singing allowing her long held skills from being a Dungeon Master to improvise without too much input from her.

_Then word got around, said "This is insane man." Took up a collection, just to send him to the mainland._

"Explain what," she paused and added. "Sir?"

Dumbledore sighed and for a moment she saw his shoulders slump slightly. "It seems all is not as I had hoped it would be."

Harry fought back a spark of anger at the mild, but regretful tone. She had flashes of all those memories she had picked up. Insults hurled at a child, burns from cooking, going hungry in the cupboard until he learned to escape to feed himself, and all those small but numerous painful things that built up into forming Harry Potter.

She had to bite her tongue to keep herself silent. She tasted copper and realized her body was tense when Mewlificent made a noise in protested and Harry relaxed her muscles a little and kept petting the cat.

 _Focus on the song._  She told herself searching to pick back where she'd left off.

" _Don't forget from whence you came. The world's gonna know your name. What's your name man?"_

"A demonstration first," Dumbledore declared. "And then some explanations."

She looked up slightly and watched his drew the Elder Wand and turned it on Mrs. Figg's table.

He turned it into a pig.

Instantly cats scattered with displeased howls. All except Mewlificent and the ginger boy, Sherbert. Mewlificent arched her tiny back and snarled. Sherbet yowled in shock and leapt down between Harry's legs to hide under her chair.

For a moment, her thought process derailed. All she could do was feel the triumphant sense of wonder, a small barely audible gasp leaving her. Magic was real and it was right before her. She was going to be able to touch it.

She was going to be able to  _do magic_.

"Are you sure I'm magic?" she breathed out. She allowed her insecurities to ripple to the surface making her question unsteady, even as instinct protested vulnerability to a stranger.

"Your name has been on our records practically since the day you were born." Dumbledore soothed her.

 _Not my name_ , she thought darkly and then searched to focus on something else to hide the thought. She has broken her tempo with the song and needed something else to focus on. Something she knew well.

_The Chantry teaches us that it was the hubris of man that brought the Darkspawn into the world._

"Hm," Dumbledore said, sounding thoughtful at her disbelief. "A different sort of demonstration."

Suddenly she was being offered his wand. Her mind panicked at the sight of thin, long bit of elder. Wasn't offering your wand like offering someone a limb?

"Now a wand chooses the wizard as the saying goes. My own wand will not do much for you as I am its master, but wands will not offer the least of sparks to a Muggle or even a Squib. If you truly believe I am incorrect we must simply test your theory, correct?"

There was something warm and friendly in his voice, but Harry had to fight not to gape at the offer. She looked down at the Elder Wand and felt a tremble of anxiety similar to stage fright. She knew the door flew open, but what if she was wrong? What if she got to be so close to the magic of her childhood dreams only to have it removed from her? To be in the same world, but away from it? Far from the practical worries of survival there was something deeper and very childish in her that ached for it.

Slowly, her fingers reached out, tentative and slightly nervous to hold the Deathstick.

 _It sang_.

Something in Harry relaxed as a warmth slowly spread from her fingertips to the rest of her body. It was the only way to describe it. The wand was singing. A small vibration that echoed to something inside her. It felt nothing like she expected. The Elder Wand was prideful, demanding the strongest wielder and she hadn't claimed it. Somehow though it felt friendly? As if it had recognized her and the warmth was its equivalent of a hug for an old acquaintance.

She felt the insane urge to greet it back. It felt so oddly familiar and it made her want to nap. She couldn't bring herself to though, because for all its warmth it also her a flash of a sharp clear image she had never seen before. It was a memory, but not Harry's.

It was hers.

Just a second of memory. She stood at the bottom of a hill, next to a quiet road. It was the same bus stop she'd waited at all through high school and she knew if she looked up through the trees at the right angle she could see a house hidden back there. She was waiting for her ride when she heard a child crying. She turned to see the child and the memory cut off abruptly.

The biggest problem was she was twenty-two in the memory, not a teenager. There was no other connecting bits of how it fit into her life. Just the knowledge of waiting for  _something_.

Harry's heart pounded and she gripped the wand tightly, looking down at it feeling unfocused and mind running in all sorts of directions.

"Now simply wave the wand," Dumbledore said, cutting through her new panic abruptly. His hand reached out to touch hers. Maybe to show her a movement. Maybe because she had been still so long.

It didn't matter. The movement was too quick, too unexpected for her fraying mind even with the wand trying to sooth her with its warmth.

She gave a full body cringe and jerked herself away, slashing the wand as she did.

Her breath came out in quick short bursts as one strangled word forced its way out. " _Don't_!"

Mewlificent howled in protest at the move.

The wand shot out a nasty bruised green light and the beam hit Dumbledore's hand. It cut him and suddenly there was blood.

Harry hissed and almost through the wand, before the rule,  _never drop a loaded gun_ , ran through her mind making her freeze and point it away from him.

A shriek accompanied by a loud crashing happened almost immediately.

Harry stiffened, feeling a trembling start, as she found Mrs. Figg covering her mouth with both hands. Her favorite serving set was on the ground.

Her breaths got quicker turning into gasps. The room grew distant and hazy. She knew she was crying and her mouth was moving, but she couldn't focus on anything beyond Mrs. Figg looking at her horrified and the bright blood.

_Sorry. Sorry. Sorry._

_What's wrong with you!_

_Clean this up!_

_You stupid bitch!_

_MomMomMomMom._

_Is she okay?_

_An unmoving figure on the ground. Curly hair spread everywhere. Chest was still._

_Sorry. Sorry. Sorry._

_A small body held up by a hand. Mom screaming. "Put him down!" Jacob's face blue._

_Sorry. Sorry. Sorry._

_Looked down, red everywhere. The broken glass on the ground. The puddle of red spread. It hurt. It hurt. Her mother screamed for the car keys. Her heart dropped. No, no, she made a mess, mess, mess._

_He'll be mad, mad, mad._

_Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I'll clean it up. I'm sorry. I'm sorry._

A bottle was being forced in her mouth. Her nose was held. She was forced to swallow. It tasted like a thick herbal syrup.

She felt herself stop.

Harry blinked and realized she'd bitten her tongue. There was a copper taste of blood. Her face was damp and she'd been crying. She sat up and brushed her face clean. Her mind was startlingly clear and she quickly straightened herself up. The numb lack of feeling was almost familiar, but less depression more drugged?

"Sorry for freaking out," she said bluntly, looking up to find a distressed Mrs. Figg and Dumbledore looking at her with a profound suffering. She was so calm she felt no need to be afraid and reached over to give the foolish, manipulative, old man a comforting pat on his soft parchment thin skin.

"It's okay. The past weeks have been stressful. I was due one." She comforted him, internally wondering over how PTSD had decided to follow her to another world. He did not look comforted in the least. She patted his hand again and turned to Mrs. Figg, who was holding a bottle.

"What's that? Some kind of magic potion?" Her words were calm but she felt a small to be of true curiosity.

"A Draught of Peace," Dumbledore answered roughly when all Mrs. Figg could give was a sob she muffled with her hand.

"Oh," Harry said and stood to grab the crying woman and pushed her unresisting into her chair. The room was emptied of cats and even the pig-coffee table had disappeared.

Harry petted Mrs. Figg's hair. She did not like her crying. The woman was very kind to her. "There, there. I'm fine now. I'm sorry you had to see. I know it's unnerving."

Mrs. Figg looked up something shattered in her expression.

"Oh, Harry," Mrs. Figg said, voice so pained. She dragged Harry into a tight, slightly damp hug. "I am so sorry. I never realized. I never did anything."

Harry dimly recognized Mrs. Figg thought the Dursleys abuse was the cause of her attack. It did make sense. Poor woman, she must feel terribly guilty. Harry supposed in a way she was responsible for keeping an eye on Harry, but she also knew how difficult it could be for someone without experience in those situations to realize something was even happening.

Besides while she had written papers on Harry's displaying a similar diagnosis of Complex PTSD, this particular trigger had nothing to do with the Dursleys. Well not entirely, she acknowledged, having long decided to try and be honest with herself if not anyone else. Living with them was definitely a contributing factor to stress that caused this. But still she brought this particular baggage on her own.

"There's no need for that." Harry assured her, unable to censor herself she was so relaxed. "I've always been a bit fucked up. Up top. You didn't hurt me so you aren't responsible. Can't take account for every bad thing that happens around you. It'd be silly. Besides you're nice. You  _help_."

Which was true. Playing with Mrs. Figg's cats and the library were the closest times to being back home she got. She missed her kittens.

Mrs. Figg sobbed again and Harry was the one who tightened the hug even as the woman shook her head in disagreement. Harry wiggled away and offered her the MB handkerchief. Mrs. Figg took it and sniffled, wiping her face clean.

Harry turned curious to find Dumbledore, wand retrieved and hand bandaged. He looked unable to settle on sadness or fury.

"Sorry about the hand. Is it okay?" She asked and Dumbledore nodded, his eyes not twinkling.

"Guess I am magic, huh?" She said going for a jovial tone, but falling flat.

"Yes, it would seem so," he answered and offered her a small smile. "I offer my own apologies for distressing you. Your Cutting Charm was excellent though."

Harry shrugged, waving away the apology.

There was a minute of silence and she said lazily, "If I'm going to go to your school you should probably talk to Petunia."

Then she thought about it, not really feeling to pressed, but deciding to keep up her charade. "Does your school have scholarships I can apply for? My family already thinks I'm a freak, so they won't wanna pay for anything." She told Dumbledore to his face, calm and watching as the guilt shattered all over his face.

"So are you talking to Petunia? She'll hate you and I'll laugh."

. . .

After they had gotten over there initial shock they began asking questions and Harry answered. Thankfully, she was gaining enough control to be more cautious in her "honest" replies. She was still really calm, but her mind was reestablishing its filter.

She answered their questions and the Draught began to fade leaving her sleepy and in control.

"I'm tired." She slurred, the cats having returned, covering her in a warm living blanket. The night had gone rather well she decided given she had a flashback in the middle. She made sure to wield her, and Little Harry's, suffering like cudgels against Dumbledore's guilt in order to avoid suspicion. Now the man seemed too consumed by his culpability in the situation to be suspicious of the victim. If anything his confrontation with the Dursleys was gearing up to explosive.

She wanted to see it, but she had been nodding off.

Harry turned to Dumbledore slowly. She blinked and it took her a bit to finish opening her eyes. When she did Dumbledore was watching her with a tender stricken expression.

"Mum and Dad were magic, right?" she asked truly curious to how he would reply.

"Yes, James and Lily were some of my brightest students and I considered them dear friends." He looked over her and raised his wand. A warm blanket settled into covering her and the cats, who wiggled out and then resettled on top.

"Can you tell me about them?" her voice was slurred. "I don't know much. Just what Aunt Petunia said. I'm starting to think that wasn't true. I've got a picture of Mum, but I wanna know something about them. Like a favorite color or-or a bad habit."

There really was a distinct lack of good information on James and Lily, good humanizing information. Those little private things you learn over the years that the knowledge of is part of your closeness. Maybe she could collect some of those. Leave them behind.

Dumbledore's voice was low and smooth, the clear teacher voice the kept you engaged. "You look very much like them. Your face is James's, but your eyes are thoroughly Lily's."

Cheap, Harry thought dully eyes drifting close.

"Your mother was always a brilliant student. She was fond of experimentation. She wanted to receive her Charms Mastery, which requires the completion of a new or edited Charm. She always had a penchant for grace and subtlety in her work. She decided to base her work in Irish, rather than traditional Latin forms. I put her in contact with an old friend of mine, an Irish witch, Maeve. Lily decided that she needed to speak the language fluently, including older forms of it. Some mornings she would insist on only speaking Irish. It drove your father mad and so he started to learn to help her. He had a terrible accent."

Harry opened her eyes and stared.

Dumbledore swallowed and continued.

"Your father meanwhile was a troublemaker. He and his gang of friends were a merry lot fond of pranks. I believe it was mostly due to an overabundance of talent and time they were unsure of how to spend. He always did his most magnificent work when dedicated to a joke. He and his friends challenged the school poltergeist to a competition their Fourth Year. No one realized what was going on until it was too late. Your father led one particular effort that involved transfiguring every utensil in the Great Hall to simultaneously start singing and dancing one morning. He actually convinced the chorus instructor at Hogwarts to assist him in learning how to accurately dance a tango in the weeks leading up to it. More than once I caught him and his friends dancing in the halls. He was very skilled by the end and at your parents wedding he and his best man gave a beautiful repeat performance as your mother laughed. She herself was a terrible dancer."

Harry closed her eyes and listened fading into dreams of forks and spoons performing the tango around a beautiful, laughing red haired bride.

. . .

When she woke up it was to a pale faced shaky Petunia, hand on Harry's shoulder. Drowsy and confused she got up. Vernon was in a chair silent, eyes bulging as he gaped fearful at the serenely smiling Dumbledore.

"What?" Harry slurred through lingering sleep.

Petunia's hand trembled as she withdrew it.

"We have talked with the Professor." Petunia gave a quick jerking motion in Dumbledore's direction. "You will be attending Hogwarts in September and are going with him tomorrow." Her face tensed up. "You will be shopping. He says your cost is covered."

Dumbledore smiled at her kindly over Petunia's shoulder. "Your Aunt, Uncle and I had an invigorating discussion. As you have had such an exciting day I decided it best to let you sleep."

Dumbledore made eye contact with Petunia and his expression grew serious. "I will be picking up Harry tomorrow at nine sharp." he paused and the air felt heavy. "Should I be delayed I will respond as I have in our previous correspondence."

Petunia paled at this and Vernon jerked, looking at his wife with a face of betrayal.

Dumbledore gave Harry one last smile. "I will be happy to see you again tomorrow, Harry. Perhaps we can talk more about your parents."

She nodded numbly and Dumbledore vanished with a crack.

Apparently Supreme Mugwumps give no shits about secrecy laws.

The Dursleys didn't say anything. About the evening, about the conversation she missed, about Mrs. Figg's cold goodbye to them or her warm hug to Harry. They drove back in silent tension between each other for a change.

When they entered Number Four, Vernon went for the kitchen and paced back and forth before drawing out a bottle of Greenall's and poured himself two fingers. He and Petunia just looked at each other. It was like their positions of the passed weeks had changed. Suddenly Vernon was the hard one looking at Petunia as if he didn't know her and Petunia was the weak one looking at her husband with a pleading, desperate expression.

Neither spoke, until Vernon took a long drink and then began.

"Go to bed, Boy." he ordered, harsh and rough.

"Vernon," Petunia said desperately. Harry saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes.

"BED!" Vernon barked. Harry gave them both a long look and left.

She grabbed the house phone as she passed. When she got to the landing of her room she heard the yelling start. First Vernon's roar, but then Petunia's shrill voice cutting in as well.

Harry closed her door, locked it, and then decided to move the wardrobe in front of it for good measure. It was loud and took some time, but the shouting covered her movements. Then she laid in bed and listened.

Listened until Petunia came upstairs and went to the Master Bedroom alone, her quiet crying loud in the silence.

Listened as Vernon came up much later, after Petunia seemed to putter out into sleep. He was stumbling and muttering, heading instead to the guest bedroom.

Listened as a weakness formed.

Harry finally relaxed as Vernon's snores began. She released her death grip on the phone, flexing her tense stinging hands. She felt thoughtful. Dumbledore was still a Wild Card, but he had gone better than expected. Her plans were, probably, not completely destroyed. She was unsure how much would actually change just because of the confrontation with what he caused. After all, he had hardly done anything in the books.

Threatening them as he seemed to have could either help her with her power struggle or result how it usually did in abuse situations. With the victim, Harry, taking the brunt.

Losing a child, even temporarily, would make or break a couple. So far, the Dursleys had been pretty united. With this though maybe she could push them further apart.

Harry's eyes ached, dropping slightly. She felt so drained, like someone had spent the day scooping her insides out, leaving her hollow. She could think on that later, she decided. For now she needed sleep. Tomorrow she was going to Diagon Alley.

The thought made her smile.


	6. Changeling Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is not doing so well. Everyone suffers for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Another dark chapter.
> 
> But 2, you heard 2 moodboards, and Dursley suffering.

When Harry woke up the next morning she felt the world scraping against her wrongly and knew she was not over her attack from yesterday. On the contrary now she felt the bruising inside of herself outlining the hollowed out bits inside. She listened dully as birds began to chirp outside her window. Her eyes drifted over to watch the slow pink turn yellow, time passing with the texture of molasses.

 

Movement from the bedroom beside her alerted her to the rest of the houses inhabitants stirring.

 

 _Get up_ , she ordered. Her eyes drifted to her arms and she tried to life them. They felt leaded down and ached inside like the rest of her. She licked her lips wetting them as she considered her options.

 

Today was a Bad Day.

 

One on par with the Thesis Meltdown of 2017. Possibly even the Three Hour Shower Breakdown that accompanied her Sperm Donor’s relatives surprising them all with a visit.

 

 _If you can do it in less than two minutes get it done_ , she cajoled pleading with herself and taking on the, probably unhealthy, but familiar role of being her own therapist and cheerleader.

 

She looked doubtfully at the blankets and then her weighted arms.

 

She heard Petunia turning on the shower and knew she had a bit of time before she had to deal with anyone. The thought instantly made her stomach turn and her body rebel. Her hands started shaking and her mouth went dry with a fear that was an old friend.

 

 _We don’t want to face them in our PJs_ . She bargained with herself. _Just change then we can sit back down._

 

Her eyes flickered over to the wardrobe, pushed in front of her door. It seemed so far away. Then she settled on the jeans left folded beside her bed. Jeans could be worn multiple times her lethargic mind reminded her. Her night shirt was soft with long sleeves. It looked enough like something someone could wear to pass. Besides the idea of showing more skin made her skin crawl.

 

 _Just the jeans_ , she swore to herself and with great effort removed the blanket. It took another five minutes to sit up and another three to get herself moving to the jeans. She changed her clothes slowly, as if she was moving against water. When she finished she stared at the bed thoughtfully, but now laying down felt like a lot of trouble to.

 

 _Just put on some socks_ , her mind whispered to her, promising she could hide away afterwards.

 

 _Just brush your hair. It will feel better._ The promise followed after the socks and led her to slowly work out the knots in her hair.

 

 _Just grab your bag. We can go hide away with it._ This had her packing her day bag, each movement slow, but coming easier the longer she went on.

 

 _Just move the wardrobe. We need to pee._ Her bladder helped give her trembling arms the resolution they needed.

 

 _Just wash your face. Get yesterday off._ The idea led her to the bathroom looking at a pained eleven year old with the saddest green eyes in the world. The water was cold, but the sharpness woke up her skin. It left her blinking slowly at her image feeling the dull cheeks and watching as each inhale allowed her to carefully cover the rawness with bandages and shadows.

 

 _Just your teeth. Morning mouth is gross_. The peppermint finished waking up her mouth and lips. After she dabbed the water off she pulled on a smile.

 

_Just get through the next step. Don’t look at the future. Accomplish the next task the next two minutes. We can handle two minutes._

 

Harry steadied herself and went back to the bedroom to grab a very light vest to wear over the pajama shirt. Then she went back to the bathroom with a brush. With careful application of water, some conditioner, and some small pinching of hair products from Petunia her hair was still a mess, but one that looked purposeful. She also pinched a few wet wipes, giving herself a Whore’s Bath, and covering it with the lovely mild scent of perfume. It was in a pretty little purple bottle and smelt of lavender, a more delicate and unobtrusive scent than Petunia preferred. It had been a gift from Dudley, Little Harry’s memories supplied in a flash, and one that was never used.

 

Harry leaned back and took in her appearance. Her hair was swept overwhelmingly to one side and held steadily looking a bit like a lion’s mane or a birds plumage in messy appearance. It had a more handled quality than she was used to seeing though. The pajamas were plain black, indistinct enough not to stick out, but soft in a lovely soothing way and with a velvety finish the dark color hid. The vest was something so very 90’s she smiled inside at the outrageous pattern. She doubted Petunia had been paying attention when she’d bought it with the other clothes. It had a distinct uniqueness about it Harry doubted the Dursleys would approve of. It was a jean vest with the insides and collar black. From the shoulders and up though was a colorful section of flower patterns that continued to mid-back. On top of each of the pockets was a small white lilies. Briefly Harry wished she had some small golden earrings and wiggled her toes, the cold reminding her of the necessity of shoes.

 

Harry looked up face carefully controlled and bared her teeth at the image. She was still scooped out inside but the idea of the Dursleys reactions had something vicious and angry spitting inside her. She felt worn and torn, but the predator in her chest wanted to rip and tear someone else apart in torn to distract it from wailing over its wounds. Looking at the teeth that turned into a macarabe smile, Harry quietly took the urge and smoothed it over with sweet promises and calming words.

 

There was a time for everything. _Later_ , Harry swore, _later._

 

She wasn’t sure how she felt about the way the urge to bite and rend felt stronger now or how much harder it was to damp down. Distantly, she noted it felt like it was gathering fuel from somewhere else and she struggled to douse it to something manageable.

 

Eventually she did.

 

“Conceal, don’t feel,” she told her reflection, voice light, teasing. Her expression smiled back, a careful jaunty expression that would look sincere to even the best. Her smile turned smaller a shared secret.

 

“Later we cry and scream,” she assured herself. “A good big cry to get it all out. Now, we have a Decent Day. Now, we go to Diagon Alley.”

 

Her hands rubbed lightly along her arms, fingers tracing a familiar pattern of infinity in soothing circles. She hummed softly, the movements adjusting to the tempo, her heartbeat steadying, from its wild flutter.

 

“ _I ruled the world,_ ” she croned softly. “ _With these hands I shook the Heavens to the ground. I laid the Gods to rest. I held the key to the kingdom, lions guarding castle walls. Hail the King...Of death._ ”

 

Harry leaned back and her calm settled over her like an old familiar coat. Pain and memories, firmly covered and her armor ready with a smile, the scent of lavender, and burst of flowers on shoulders.

 

. . .

 

 

Breakfast was tense. Vernon barely twitched at Harry’s changed appearance. This told her more about the tensions in the Dursleys marriage than anything else. Harry felt no need to stir the pot, pulling on another mask of observer and schemer to watch this play out over her calm. Petunia looked miserable and Harry could see the dark circles on under her makeup.

 

Harry lingered as the couple before her finished their breakfast. They were beside each other, but they may as well have been separated by a canyon. She grabbed another roll, pulling it apart slowly as she waited. She was patient. She could wait.

 

Finally, Vernon finished and looked at Petunia, expression stiff but regularly colored.

 

“I've decided to stay with Marge.” he announced getting to his feet. “I've already called her and she knows to expect us.” he stopped and corrected. “To expect me.”

 

If he had punched Petunia in the gut, she would have made much the same choked off gasp.

 

“Vernon-” Petunia started tears already welling up, as she followed him around the table.

 

“No,” Vernon interrupted, firm and for a moment there seemed a flicker of regret at his wife's expression. “I need time to think. I've spoken to work and I will be managing a new plant opening in Marge’s area. I am not leaving you and when that bastard _socialist_ shows up you can tell him as much.”

 

“Please,” Petunia said almost losing her composure completely as her voice cracked.

 

Vernon wavered. He looked deep into Petunia’s blue eyes and something like love appeared on his face mixed with betrayal. Petunia meanwhile was pleading and shattered.

 

“Pet,” he began taking half a step forward, hand reaching towards her.

 

Harry scraped her knife against the jam jar, the sound high and grating. She calmly spread it across the pulled apart roll, making a sandwich out of the two halves and nibbling lightly. She watched the proceedings with a careful expression of mild interest. The two looked at her. Vernon’s expression hardened and he withdrew his hand, clenching it into a fist.

 

“I'll phone.” he said stiffly and stomped back out, his large footfalls clear on the steps. The sound of drawers being opened and items thrown around filled the silent house.

 

Petunia stood there frozen as Harry finished the roll. Her stomach felt pressed a little too full, but she was satisfied.

 

A movement from her had Petunia turning on her. Her grief waa quickly eclipsed by a mad sort of fury.

 

“ _You_!” she shrieked, voice cracking in its pitch now. “If you had just had the decency to die with those worthless parents of yours! You did this! You ruined my life!”

 

Petunia made to move close to her, anger clear and Harry spoke one clear earth shattering word that froze her in spot.

 

“Dudley,” she said snapping through the air, head carefully cocked.

 

Petunia held her breathe.

 

“You love your child Petunia. It's your one redeeming quality. Don't go throwing him away so easily.” Harry said, her voice was so steady in the room it felt heavy even to her and seemed to hit Petunia with a blow.

 

Petunia’s color returned, mood whiplashing at the sudden second upturning of her life. “ _Be quiet_!”

 

Harry had decided to wait, but perhaps she could add a little to this perfect explosion.

 

“You did this to yourself you know,” Harry told her conversational, even as every muscle was taut and adrenaline pumped through her veins. Something inside her was gleeful at the thought of her words and how they struck. She casually grabbed her plate and set it in the sink.

 

 _Just a taste_ , she decided feeling the barbs inside her begin to aim outward.

 

“ _Shut it_!” Petunia said shuddering from head to toe. She marched forward arm rearing back as her temper erupted.

 

Harry smiled, turning back to her and spoke in a falsetto, mimicking the soft tones of a young girl.

 

“ _I’m sorry, Tuney, I’m sorry!_ ” Harry said, voice sweet and earnest. “ _Maybe once I’m there, I’ll be able to go to Professor Dumbledore and persuade him to change his mind._ ”

 

The words seemed to shock her into a sudden stop.

 

“Y-You-H-how?” she said voice shuddering and face taking on an almost baleful color.

 

“He was very kind wasn’t he?” Harry told her mildly leaning back to rest against the counter a new coat she had only ever donned to play villain as a Dungeon Master fitting around her with a disturbing ease.

 

Cruelty slipped through easily.

 

“So kind to the poor, desperate Petunia. Never as pretty, never as clever, never as special as _Lily_ . Lily, precious perfect, _Lily_.” she sang the words to Petunia, the venom making them sweet. “You made her into a freak when you couldn’t follow her. You married a man who would become just as hateful as you. And you focused your hate on the most innocent of targets.”

 

Harry couldn’t stop her voice from dropping an octave. “A little boy you were trusted to care for and protect. To _love_ . You betrayed your sister a second time and you _killed_ her son.”

 

Harry could almost hear the horror movie music playing in the background as Petunia moved away. Dimly, she registered she was being reckless, but the snapping thing inside her urged her on more and more. She followed, adopting the threatening prowl that she’d practiced so hard on for Halloween. It looked more animal than human, unnerving she has been assured.

 

Petunia pressed herself against the door.

 

Harry heard the footsteps heading back downstairs and her smile grew sharp.

 

“What are you?” Petunia asked voice barely there through an almost scream.

 

“I am Harry Potter,” she reassured Petunia, smile softening into something sweet and infinitely more disturbing as a result. “Besides I’m sure you can figure it out. I left you some delightful little clues after all.”

 

The door slammed and for a moment it drew Petunia away from her fear.

 

“Looks like it’s just you and me now Aunt Tuney!” Harry said cheerfully. Her expression turned soothing as the woman trembled. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t do anything to you. Think of me as a guardian. I am here to protect this body. All your suffering will be by your own hand. Punishment is wrought from your sins Petunia Evans Dursley. Do make sure to clean up before our guest arrives.”

 

Harry left her with another smile. She closed the door behind her with a slight shake in her hand, fighting away the vicious stab inside her to go back and do worse. There was a very dark power in crushing someone that way she realized stepping away from it felt like coming down from a medicated high.

 

Her plan had moved forward smoothly, but she felt the trembling inside return as the fury abetted. Nausea crept into her stomach at the actual pleasure she had derived from Petunia’s pain, but she brushed it away with practiced ease. She played the villain as well as her friends had always suggested she would. She’d enjoyed it as much as she was worried she would as well.

 

She stayed outside the door until she heard Petunia start to move. Harry listened to the woman move across the room and the sink turn on. Harry could hear the soft sobs barely covered from the running water and moved to retrieve a notebook from the floorboards. She would right she decided, following her desperate desire for movement. She would write to Little Harry and explain as best she could.  

 

 _Next time_ , she decided grabbing the notebook and her bag and ignoring the small cracks forming inside her she was holding together tightly. _More Yami Yugi, Danava Edition, than hints of Izaya._

 

Harry set on the front steps and in the early morning light, started to write her letter. The words grew less shaky as she continued on.

 

. . .

 

By the time Dumbledore arrived her cracks had been more firmly resolved and all traces of distress had been channeled away, along with her restless energy. She had managed to focus back on her Decent Day proclamation. She was honestly feeling better at this point. Her arms had lost their lingering weakness and her mind was less fogged by emotion. She waved at the neighbors happily as they passed and many returned it or at least misled, even as they eyes her outfit speculatively. The slightly shy twist on her grin and warmth in her greetings seemed enough to chase any lingering ideas of her oddness though. She had even been able to have a very nice conversation with Mrs. Pears about the acidity of her soil and how it was giving her hyacinth a lovely shade of blue-purple. She was apparently considering submitting it to compete against Mrs. Number Ten’s prized orchids.

 

Dumbledore arrived shortly after the woman had left and after Harry had turned her face up to the sky to enjoy the warmth seeping down.

 

She opened her eyes slowly, looking up at him through her lashes and languid smile spreading onto her face.

 

“Morning Professor,” she greeted lazily, angling her face into the sun.

 

Dumbledore smiled back at her, kindly and somehow sad, he took in her appearance and smiled fondly. He was in a bright tangerine suit today.

 

He looked down noting the bag at her side and flickered back to the door behind her. “Are you ready to go my boy?”

 

“I should tell Aunt Petunia goodbye first.” Harry decided pushing up on her feet, ignoring the tinge at _boy_. Before she could answer the house the door opened. Petunia had changed. Her dress was neat and the lines perfect, her makeup smooth, her hair brushed back, and the smile on her was as fake as Harry’s, but just as carefully managed.

 

“Petunia,” Dumbledore greeted.

 

Petunia, to her credit, did not flinch as she had before, focusing instead on Harry and offering her a small lunch box and an envelope. Harry looked at her curiously and peeked into the envelope to find forty pounds inside. She blinked and then peeked in the lunch box to find a fresh bottle of milk, some bread-and-butter, and a collection of small cakes.

 

Harry laughed. Petunia stiffened and Dumbledore looked at her curiously.

 

Harry didn’t stop giggling though.

 

Petunia frowned, “I thought to make sure you had an appropriate lunch.”

 

Harry nodded, slowly smothering her giggling the delight providing through her as Petunia came to the exactly right _wrong answer_.

 

“Thanks Aunt Petunia,” Harry said with a genuine smile. “It’s perfect.”

 

Petunia nodded with a grimace, gave Dumbledore a cautious look, and turned back to the house.

 

Dumbledore seemed slightly perplexed over the actions, his blue eyes looking between them thoughtful and sharp. Harry gave a warm small, tucking the money away and slipping the lunch into her bag. _Perfect Petunia_.

 

“Let’s get going professor!” Harry said happily.

 

Dumbledore smiled, but Harry noted the careful edge of his smile. She looked up at him pulling up sheepishness.

 

“Uncle Vernon left on a trip, so Aunt Petunia made me some birthday cake.” she said honest and leaving room for conclusions to be drawn at the man’s leisure. Dumbledore was cunning, but his belief in people had its own downfall. He was happy to believe years of estrangement could be forgotten so easily after all.

 

“I see,” he said voice saddened.

 

Harry decided to change the subject. “Professor Dumbledore how are we going shopping? I don’t see a car?”

 

Dumbledore smiled, sadness fading away to be replaced with a kindly mischief. “That Harry is part of many surprises for the day.”

 

Harry gave him her first honest smile of the morning.

 

“I can’t wait.”


	7. Walks and Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversational chapter and a surprise character appearance.

 

Dumbledore did not Apparate away like last time. Instead they went on a small walk to the nearby park at Wisteria Walk. The same park Harry had ran to her first day. It was more than a little amusing to watch passerby stare at the tall, elderly man with waist long silver hair and beard in a bright tangerine suit and matching heeled boots to complete it. Dumbledore simply smiled in his wise, grandfatherly manner at startled dog walkers and frozen gardening society members who held pruners in mid-air. Harry was pleased to note how many people were giving her concerned rather than disgruntled looks.

 

Mrs. Number Five, Bedelia Furrier, made a point to call them over and subtly interrogate Dumbledore about his interactions. A few well place smiles, a brief conversation on knitting patterns, and an explanation of Dumbledore having been somewhat of a parental figure to Harry’s dead parents assuaged her. Harry was sure though any missteps would have resulted in the small, round, well-dressed housewife braining Dumbledore with the flower pot she held tightly throughout the conversation. It was only after she had been reassured that she brushed off the fallen leaves and sat it back down. She sent them off with a sandwich, for Harry, and a pattern of small star balls, for Dumbledore.

 

Mr. Prentice was similarly wary, the narrow eyed, grumpy old man calling them over. He eyed Dumbledore distrustfully the entire time and loudly talked about his time in “the War”. Which war was never quite clear, but they were always vivid stories. He also made sure to mention his son-in-law’s position in the Surrey Police. Harry had to repeatedly promise to drop in upon returning home and whisper said son-in-law’s personal number before being released. Mr. Prentice made sure to shake Dumbledore’s hand with all his strength and look the considerably taller man dead in the eye when he ordered him to bring “their Mr. Potter back in the same condition he left in”.

 

Harry winced, but couldn't suppress the mixture of amused and touched she was by the action. Apparently, her wooing of Privet Drive had been successful to the point she was one of their own and should be looked after.

 

Though she was avoiding looking at him too directly, Harry noticed Dumbledore looked strangely pleased and almost reassured by these actions. His eyes were twinkling and he began humming as they arrived at the park.

 

Harry obeyed, but reminded sharply curious when Dumbledore led her over to an out-of-way bench to sit. He drew out his wand and tapped the metal bench lightly. At first Harry didn't think anything happened, but then she saw a jogger make a sudden loop around them as if the area didn't exist. A Muggle Repelling Charm of some kind?

 

“Aren't we supposed to be shopping?” Harry asked as she watched a teenager turn abruptly muttering about a stamp collection.

 

“We will be, but there are some less pleasant topics we need to address first.” Dumbledore’s face looked somber and his voice was gentle. It put Harry instantly on edge.

 

“Like what?” she asked, her shoulders drawing together.

 

“Harry, do you know why I came to see you yesterday?”

 

That felt like a loaded question. Harry looked down thinking quickly. **She** knew there were quite a few factors behind the decision. Her mind went instantly to listing them: _guilt over leaving Little Harry in the situation, the pain of failing to correctly judge someone, the concern over what if this destroys the savior you may need, shame over putting a child in this situation, wariness over what if you've spawned another Dark wizard…_ She cut them off and thought about what Dumbledore had actually told her in those slightly fuzzy memories immediately following.

 

“You were close to my parents,” she began slowly considering her words. “You heard something happened from Mrs. Figg, who's your friend?”

 

Her eyes flickered up briefly to see his reaction to the question. Dumbledore nodded and she continued.

 

“Because you liked my parents you wanted to be the one who told me about school and thought my family might have trouble because they don't have magic?” She made her voice grow increasingly more doubtful as the sentence went on. Dumbledore hadn't really told her much at all before things had spiraled downward.

 

He smiled at her softly, “I do care about your parents a great deal and you as well Harry. I wanted to check up on you, but there are some things I now realize we must speak of first.”

 

His somber, regretful expression returned. “I know your Aunt and Uncle told you about your parents deaths, but they were not honest I am afraid. Lily and James did not die in a Muggle carriage accident. They were murdered Harry.”

 

Dumbledore took a moment, before continuing. The silence of it dragged along Harry’s spine and she stared at the fists clenched in her lap, slightly breathless knowing what was to come.

 

“There was a war that started years ago before you were born. A Dark Wizard who styled himself Lord Voldemort believed that those with magic should rule those without. Your parents, I, and many other brave souls stood against him. That night ten years ago Voldemort went after your parents. When he turned his wand on you though something happened no one expected. His magic broke, turning back on himself. That night the war ended leaving you an orphan and with that scar.”

 

Harry took a soft shuddering breathe. She knew this story it had been a part of her life since fourth grade when a lonely, friendless girl had found a curiously thick book with a glasses wearing boy on it. She'd read about his surviving the Triwizard Tournament with a sort of breathless enthusiasm of someone who has arrived in the middle of a story, but is too involved to find the beginning. The thing she had felt the most connected to, the thing she had clung to in the story that he had been like her. Both parents gone. His due to another's evil. Her biological father to his own and her mother to keep them from it. She remembered the ache of the graveyard and parents appearing then.

 

There was a big difference in the knowledge of Lily and James’s death and hearing someone who had known them well speak of it. She felt the weight of Dumbledore’s hidden grief settle in her chest as surely as she had always felt her roommates’ distress. The deaths were a literary tragedy, but with the warmth of the day against her skin and the cold weight of their deaths in her chest it felt **real**.

 

She knew more about them now than she ever had. Harry had spent days tracing ten year old Lily’s writings in the margin of the book and discovering small neater notes of a different color, smoother, but familiar penship seemingly added years later. Lily and James were real people and for a moment she felt the loss of them for Little Harry.

 

He had been loved and they had been so very young. Younger even than her.

 

“Harry?” Dumbledore asked, voice gentle as the silence dragged on.

 

Harry swallowed past her empathetic grief and the remainder of her own loss. A family just as out of reach as the Potters.

 

“How did I survive?” she asked, voice a rough whisper.

 

 _Why am I here?_ She whispered inside the haunting question.

 

Dumbledore reached over slowly, allowing time for her to turn him down. She allowed it and he very gently gave her hand a small squeeze. His skin was the same soft parchment texture of her Papaw’s. It made her eyes sting.

 

“I suspect it was your mother’s love.” Dumbledore told her. “She died to shield you and that kind of sacrifice leaves its mark. Not your scar, but something deeper. Voldemort never really understood love. He was consumed with hatred and greed and his own ambition. To be loved so deeply leaves a permanent mark on one's soul. A form of protection he did not understand. It was this love, your mother’s, that stopped the Killing Curse.”

 

There was a solemn silence. Harry used to think the speeches about love were a little silly at times, even if they were emotional. A bit like those constant Shonen speeches on friendship. She'd been in the camp of “a bit of actual magical training would be nice”, but she had understood from the story standpoint why they were important.

 

Hearing it from Dumbledore, she now understood the reason someone would take them at face value. Dumbledore had this charisma about him that made you want to believe in what he said and trust him implicitly. Even if you didn't quite understand it yet, it was an aura that made you sure he knew everything. It reminded her a bit of elves from _Lord of the Rings_ the same old, hard won wisdom clung to his voice, softening it.

 

In their initial meeting she'd been too off put to notice.

 

“So my Mum saved the world and that's why you wanted to check on me?” Harry asked, because really it was Lily who'd done the saving the first time. Little Harry had recognized that as well. She did feel a little unfaithful to her Mom referring to someone else as her mother, but calling Lily “Mum” helped provide the distance. She noticed a flicker of a smile on Dumbledore’s face.

 

“It is a little more complicated than that. Harry, no one has ever survived the Killing Curse before you. It is a Dark magic that should be impossible to prevent. You are famous in our world, the Boy-Who-Lived. A bit of a grand title. Everyone knows your name and considers you a hero for defeating Voldemort and ending the war.”

 

Harry decided to reply sincerely.

“That's dumb.” She kept going before Dumbledore could interrupt with questions. “Mum's the one who did the magic to save me like you said. She’s the hero not me.”

 

Dumbledore looked both sincerely touched by this statement and deeply approving of it. “Be that as it may I have decided some precautions are necessary due to your fame. I wanted you to understand what happened. I will answer any questions you ask truthfully, but understand some I may be unable to answer until you are older.”

 

Harry nodded grudgingly, and agreed. “The truth is a beautiful and powerful thing.”

 

Dumbledore startled looking impressed. He looked her over thoughtful. “A very wise statement.”

 

Harry felt a flicker of amusement. He would agree, he had said it or could have anyway. She considered her options. _She_ knew quite a bit, but there were still questions that gnawed at her. Most of those she couldn't ask for fear of tipping him off that something was off about her. She could begin to build up some more of her plan for change though.

 

“Did Mum and Dad have any other family?” she asked tentatively, tracing the family trees in her mind.

 

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. “Both of your grandparents passed shortly before your birth. Your father did have an uncle and aunt, but Charlus went missing during the war. Sadly, your great-aunt Dorea cut herself off from the family.”

 

Harry twitched slightly, surprised. Did that mean Dorea Potter was alive?

 

She continued to press, “What about friends? Did they have anyone else they cared about? I, well, Aunt Petunia doesn't like talking about them. I thought I might be able to send them a letter to ask if they could tell me a little?”

 

Inside her heart was pounding to the rhythm of _Remus Lupin_ a bit of hope in her heart. Dumbledore hesitated a moment and she realized he was probably weighing the cost and benefit of telling her.

 

“I mentioned your mother’s old Charm Master Maeve. She is still alive and may be able to tell you some stories. Lily was also became close to a Mrs. Molly Weasley when she discovered she was pregnant with you.” Dumbledore seemed to do a moment of quick calculation before adding. “Her best friend from childhood still lives though. Professor Severus Snape has always deeply loved your mother and works at Hogwarts.”

 

 _Holy fuck._ Harry stared. Dumbledore was definitely up to something. Talk about a different introduction to Snape. Little Harry would have been instantly enamored with the idea of someone close to his parents. This had to be some kind of set up.

 

For her, Snape was a character she had a love-hate relationship with. She was firmly convinced of his actual “dick-ishness”, but he was also on of her favorites because he was so complex. She had written her graduating paper partially on him after all. Plus she knew Jessi, her lovely wife in spirit if not law, would never forgive her if she did not at least try to do something nice for the man that Jessi had loved above all other characters.

 

“Do you think,” she licked her lips. “Do you think he would mind if I sent him a letter? Or Mrs. Weasley?”

 

Dumbledore’s blue eyes twinkled, “I believe that would be a very fine thing to do Harry.”

 

Harry nodded, keeping her eyes down in seeming bashfulness.

 

“Is there anyone else?” she asked. _Uncle Moony!_

 

Dumbledore kept up his smile. “Quite a few of your professors were close your parents and would be happy to talk about them with you. Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House, knew them all through their years and considered them both great friends after they graduated. Professor Flitwick, our Charms Professor, had an especial fondness for your mother.”

 

_MOONY DAMMIT!_

 

“And our new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor also attended school with them. He was very close to your father. Remus was among his closest of friends.”

 

 _Wait, what?_ Harry’s mind stuttered to a close. Lupin was DADA now? That didn't make any sense. Quirrell was supposed to have the position. Then again with the turn over she supposed Quirrell would only have been hired this summer. Could this mean she's already changed something big? Could Dumbledore have tracked down and hired Lupin instead because of what he heard? Is that why he waited so long to come see her? He was preparing for whatever plan he had that made him want Little Harry to connect with Snape and Remus his first year?

 

On one hand she was thrilled beyond belief. Remus Lupin was hands down her favorite Marauder and in her Top Five. On the other more changes meant her ripples were already affecting things and changing the usefulness of her foreknowledge.

 

But _Lupin_.

 

“And you don't think they'd mind my asking them?” she asked again.

 

“No, they would love to Harry.” Dumbledore reassured her. She gave a small nod heart pounding. Was Quirrell still at Hogwarts? Was Voldemort still using him?

 

They spent a few moments in silence, Harry going over all she'd learned and Dumbledore looking over the park as he gave her a few moments. If things were already changing she needed to make sure to monitor carefully. She needed a sweet spot between letting all the bad shit happen as JK had written and losing complete control.

 

“We,” She licked her lips and swallowed when her voice cracked a little. She was nervous. It was an uncomfortable realization. And it wasn't just Dumbledore, who was unnerving in his own way, or residual feelings from the rest of the morning. At least not entirely. The timeline change unnerved her, but more than anything she felt a bit nervous about going to Diagon Alley. What if it was like when you built something up in your mind so hugely the reality couldn't touch it? That would be a unique kind of horrible.

 

“We should be going shouldn't we?” she finished, voice clearer.

 

Dumbledore drew out his famous watch. Harry leaned forward, curious to see the small planets and stars moving around. Dumbledore gave a small “hm” as he traced the path of a small moon with his eyes. He snapped the watch shut, placed it back in his pocket and smiled.

 

“Yes, right on time.” he told her cheerful and drew his wand to gently tap her head. “Now we do not want to be interrupted today, so a good disguise is called for.”

 

Harry shivered as what felt like a cold egg seemed to crack over her, creeping down her and _into_ her skin. She watched curious as her fringe grew long turning a bright, painful red out of the corner of her eye. She could feel her face rearranging into something longer. Her skin darkened to a nice olive and she watched freckles dap onto her her hands like little bits of reddish paint drops. She even felt herself grow about an inch. It wasn't painful, just exceedingly odd.

 

She looked up to find Dumbledore now possessed thick black hair, a small pug like nose, and had lost about two feet in height. The tangerine suit had shrunk to fit him. Her clothes had also adjusted to any size changes.

 

“What was that?” Harry asked and was a little relieved to hear the voice she had gotten used to over the past couple months.

 

“A bit of Transfiguration, my speciality.” Dumbledore replied smoothly, the smile looking odd on his changed face. “You will be learning this at Hogwarts as well, though it will be a few years before you get to human Transfiguration. Your father was quite good at it.”

 

Harry nodded, the new weight of her hair startling her. She tentatively touched it and realized it had become rather long. She pulled a few strands forward, looking over the color. Well, she finally got that red hair she had always wanted she supposed. Though now she suspected she looked like a Weasley.

 

“Will we be teleporting their like you did from Mrs. Figg’s?” Harry asked, standing when Dumbledore did and tucking the hair behind her ear.

 

Bizarro!Dumbledore smiled again his now hazel eyed twinkling unnaturally. “That Harry is a much nicer surprise I am sure you will enjoy. We must hurry though or we'll miss it.”

 

. . .

 

Harry was excited. In fact she was vibrating with it, because in her hand was a beautifully done purple ticket with golden lettering that proclaimed:

 

_Knight Bus Service_

_31 July 1991_

_Magnolia Crescent, Little Whinging, Surrey, England to Leaky Cauldron, 1 Diagon Alley, London_

_One Way, No Return Trip_

 

She could have screamed when she realized what exactly the ticket meant. She held the ticket with more reverence than strictly necessary, but couldn't find it in her to be embarrassed.

 

She was going to ride the _Knight Bus._

 

Dumbledore beside her was holding his watch, _hmming_ lightly to himself.

 

“Just a few moments now Harry.” he reassured her and she had to duck her head to hide her grin.

 

There was a soft ticking emitting from the watch that made the second drag on as her heart beat like a drum in her chest.

 

_Tick-Thump. Thump-Tock. Tick-Thump. Thump-Tock._

 

And then **_BANG_ ** _._

 

There was an explosion of sound like a shotgun next to the ear of someone who didn't wear muffs or plugs. Her vision was taken up by a violently purple triple decker with golden writing. She may or may not have squeaked a little and flailed her hands happily before she managed to shove them into her pocket to stop the habit and keep her cool. An older teenager promptly stepped out of the bus shattering any inklings of calm with her bright red  spiky hair, heart shaped face, dark eyes, and friendly smile.

 

“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go.” the girl said in a cheerful voice finishing with a flourish as her hair rippled into the same violent purple color and grew into a shaved sides and curling middle style. Her grin was infectious. “Wotcher, my name is Tonks and I'll be your conductor.”

 

Harry had to fight back the urge to swoon.

 

_Best. Unbirthday. Gift. Ever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little put out by the fact that there is so much talking and so little action. This talk to longer than intended thougg so next chapter we get DIAGON ALLEY!


	8. Tonks and Banks

 

Harry was doing her best not to stare, but she couldn't help peeking up at Tonks every few minutes and feeling a small thrill. The teenager had a knowing smile on her face and had actually winked when she caught Harry peeking up once. Harry could feel a flush on her cheeks. She'd never been particularly good with attractive people and flirting that wasn't platonic. It didn't help that this was much less a crush, and Harry had plenty of experience with crushes far out of her league, but genuine admiration. That was always much more embarrassing than romance. Dumbledore smiled to himself at the behavior, giving her a fond look.

 

Thankfully, neither of the two who noticed her preoccupation said anything more. Denying she found the younger-older girl pretty was a lie. Even if it was unrelated to the reason for her fascination. But it also wouldn't help Harry’s case to deny it. Denials always made people more convinced they were right in their assumptions.

 

The Knight Bus itself was plenty of a distraction anyway.

 

It was rather full at the moment.

 

There seemed to be a family in the next section up. Their toddler kept running down stairs having decided the Knight Bus was actually a jungle gym. So far two disgruntled older siblings, one father, and one heavily pregnant mother had come down to retrieve him. He was a very friendly baby, all gummy smile, reddish freckles on his brown cheeks, and tightly curling red-brown hair. He had been fascinated by Harry the second trip down and squealed over her new freckles, slapping back and forth between her hands and his cheeks excitedly. Her heart had melted more than a little and she'd been reminded of when her younger cousin and pseudo-brother had been the same age. A quick turn had her grabbing him before he could be flung about and keeping him in her lap until the older brother could get him. Now, he had decided Harry made a great chair and each subsequent escape was spent in her lap until a relative came.

 

The latest trip had ended with the mother introducing herself as Irene Montgomery and the little boy as Jason. Harry had waved good-bye with a genuine smile her insides feeling all gooey in a way only children, baby animals, occasionally her baby brother, when he wasn't an asshole, and her younger friends managed to make her feel.

 

Dumbledore chuckled lightly beside her at the interaction.

 

On their level were three teenage girls who were catching up happily. They were about fifteen and sixteen and had the air of kids experiencing their first taste of unsupervised adventure.

 

One was short and cute with red-brown hair and dark brown eyes. She kept giggling every time Harry was visited by Jason. Her hair seemed to catch the light everytime she moved filled with colorful clips and tiny braids. She also kept pulling over Tonks for conversations whenever she passed to alert another passenger or bring out a breakfast tray.

 

Crammed into the same seat as her as a pretty girl with pin straight black hair, black monolid eyes, and a small face. She, unlike the girl she had her arm around, was wearing distinctively wizard robes. They were interesting though because the cut made them resemble a _hanbok_ if it was in a fantasy novel. She looked distinctly uncomfortable the one time the toddler had approached, her regal expression dropping to reveal the awkwardness of someone not experienced with children.

 

The last girl sat by herself and had caught Harry's attention with a very passionate rant about Quidditch brooms. She had blonde hair pulled back in a braid, a no nonsense air, but a warm smile when she laughed. She also kept sneaking out a book when her two friends became occupied with each with a rather resigned air to contrast the honeymoon one of the couple.

 

There were others as well. Individuals and couples who got on and off. One particular amazed looking family of three got on soon after Harry. If she had to guess she suspected the wide eyed blond boy was a Muggleborn. The parents were dressed in expensive Muggle clothing she recognized from the fashion magazines Petunia was fond of and looked both distressed, arrogant, and fascinated by everything occurring. The woman actually gave a little shriek when Tonks’s hair changed to blonde. The parents kept a tight grip on their son’s shoulder as they were brought upstairs by Tonks, who seemed to be doing an admirable job of calming them down.

 

They made a stop at Aberdeen, arriving in mere moments, and then Tonks announced, “Next stop, 1 Diagon Alley, London!”

 

She finished this announcement with a grin and sauntering over to lean next to Dumbledore’s chair.

 

“Having a good one Headmaster?” she asked with a pleased smile at Dumbledore’s chuckle. Harry jerked slightly surprised and her eyes flickered briefly to take in his still altered appearance.

 

“Ah, correct Miss Tonks. What gave me away if I might ask?” Dumbledore said lightly, eyes twinkling and strangely pleased at being discovered.

 

“I'm a Metamorphmahgus, it's easier for me to spot when someone else is transformed. You had the same body language and speech choices.” Tonks grinned and winked at Harry, making her realize she was gaping slightly. Harry snapped her mouth shut, flushing but was impressed and fascinated.

 

“Metamorphmagus, so magical metamorphosis,” Harry said, cutting in. “It's why you can change your appearance at will. Like a Doppelganger.”

 

Tonks blinked at that. “A what now?”

 

“A Doppelganger. It's a creature from myth which can change its shape at will.” Harry explained. “Probably came about from witnesses to your ability.”

 

Tonks looked amused.

 

Harry flushed, ducking her head to avoid eye contact. “Eh, sorry. Weird topic.”

 

Cheeks warm, she pulled at her sleeves and traced a soothing triskelion on her thigh lightly.

 

Tonks laughed. “No worries. It's interesting!”

 

Harry looked up to find warm eyes resting on her and an open smile.

 

“You a Muggleborn?” Tonks asked curious.

 

“Muggle-raised,” Harry corrected lightly.

 

Tonks nodded. “Sorry, my dad’s Muggleborn. Nothing wrong with being one! You remind me a bit of him is all.”

 

Harry nodded relaxing under the casual friendliness and Tonks turned back to Dumbledore.

 

“I doubt anyone else will be able to see through the disguises. They're very good.” she assured him.

 

“Oh, I do not doubt that. Thank you for alerting me of this fascinating weakness.” Dumbledore’s eyes went even brighter. “Though I should not be surprised considering how well I have heard you did on the Disguise and Concealment portion of the exams.”

 

It was Tonks turn to flush, a full body one that included the soft pink hair color.

“Thanks Headmaster,” she said with a small pleased smile.

 

A sudden sharp turn and a small forest jumping out of the way sent Harry almost sprawling, though Tonks tensed grabbing onto a hand hold up top. Tonks’s free arm shooting out was all that stopped Harry from going into the floor.

 

“Careful there mystery kid,” Tonks teased and then checked her watch, letting Harry go when it was clear she had gotten steady. “I've got to go wake up Madame Dragomir.”

 

Tonks looked back at them, “Nice chatting with you.” And then she added with a wink. “Nice coat too kid.”

 

“Bye,” Harry said face still warm from being saved and giving a sad little awkward wave that made Tonks laugh as if it was endearing while Harry cringed internally.

 

Dumbledore twinkled knowingly and outside the windows the fast moving colors formed a city.

 

. . .

 

The arrival at the Leaky Cauldron had most of the bus emptying out. The Montgomerys, the Muggle family, the teenage girls, and a well-dressed but old fashion looking woman with an imperious hair and feathered hat all followed them. Harry noted the Montgomerys had somehow absorbed the Muggle parents and their son as Irene was kindly explaining something to them. The teenagers took off in a flurry heading straight into the iconic building while the woman marched forward confidently, muttering something in what Harry thought was Russian to the smaller girl who held the door for her.

 

Harry quickly lost focus on the group around them turning to the small pub in front of her between the record store and bookstore.

 

With the exception of Hogwarts itself it was probably one of the most well known locations of the Wizarding World. The symbolic entrance of a magical world. A little dingy, old-fashioned and magic. Hidden in plain sight. Harry grinned like a loon at the small iron wrought sign that had a cauldron with a crack in it dangling down.

 

“The Leaky Cauldron,” Dumbledore told her. “The entrance to your world Harry.”

 

She eagerly followed behind the man eyes blinking at the sudden change in light. The noise alone was startling. The Leaky Cauldron was packed. Families, students, shoppers. Everywhere.

 

Orders were flying off to the kitchen hidden behind the bar and plates went out floating to tables, ducking and weaving through patrons and occasionally nearly spilling. A tea set flew past Harry’s ear, dainty and rose-and-olive patterned to settle in front of a sleepy looking witch. The set began pouring itself and dropping in sugar spoonfuls. A worker cleaned up waving chairs into the air and vanishing dirt before stacking the plates and dismissing them into the air. They danced a pattern over the head of the old man who could only be Tom at the bar and disappeared out of sight. A man was reading _The Morning Prophet_ to one side and Harry could see a moving black-and-white photo of what had to be a professional Quidditch player being struck off his or her broom by a bludger.

 

Harry’s heart clenched and she felt the incredibly strong urge to cry.

 

Dumbledore led her through the room with a soft touch on her back when she almost ran into a chair distracted by some flying cutlery. They were headed to the back exit. Dumbledore gave a small nod to Tom before going out to the back exit. It was small courtyard with a trash can at the back.

 

“Now as many things in our world are the entrance to Diagon Alley, where we'll be shopping today, as hidden. It can only be revealed if you know the secret.”

 

“Three up and two across,” Dumbledore told her and slowly completed the pattern with his wand.

 

Then the wall started moving, brick moving itself into an archway. The small cobblestone street lead away and out of sight. Dumbledore rounded the corner with an almost jaunty skip to his steps and Harry followed eager for a glimpse.

 

Then she saw it.

 

Harry’s breathe caught in her throat and she stared. Sunlight hit her face as the courtyard transformed into a bustling alley filled with shoppers. Her hands shook and habit had her hiding her toothy grin with one hand. She could see all sorts of colorful robes, in different styles. From the plain draping kind to elaborate layered pieces with runes embroidered in. Owls were flying overhead hooting and dropping into small out of the way entrances like doggy doors near the roof. She could see all the famous stores nearby.

 

The cauldron shop filled advertising self-stirring pots. The Apothecary with barrels full of newt eyes, a sign proclaiming an ounce for five sickles. Fortescue’s with small colorful umbrellas spread wide and packed with families, couples, and teenagers enjoying the weather. Flourish and Blotts had books she knew to be from Hogwarts displayed in the glass. The quidditch shop had an eager collection of children with noses pressed to the glass “ooohing” and “aaahing” at what Harry was sure was a Nimbus 2000. Gringotts towered above the others at an intersection directly ahead, white and gleaming. She could hear bits of conversation all around her.

 

“If salamander blood goes up one more time I will write to the Ministry! I swear Doris what is a witch to do with these prices!”

 

“--hear Kettleburn’s finally thinking of retiring. Ravenclaw Carl has betting pool going on about how many limbs he'll make it out with.”

 

“---just not sure. I mean the Canons are easy. A gimme win really. It's the Arrows I'm worried about Mi Young!”

 

“Ugh, too many humans. Should of stayed in Germany, mark my words. Separate communities there. They've got the right idea of it, Razar. I'm telling you we should get some of us together-”

 

Harry’s cheeks hurt. Her eyes couldn't stay focused on one thing always becoming distracted by something new.

 

“What do you think?” Dumbledore asked, eyes gentle and focused on her face.

 

Harry looked at him briefly, before looking around once more.

 

“It's amazing,” she breathed, her voice shaking.

 

Dumbledore gave her a soft smile in response.

 

. . .

 

Gringotts was as grand as she imagined. A massive old snowy white building with its burnished bronze doors, framed on each side by goblins in scarlet and gold uniforms. They eyed the two of them disapprovingly with sharp black eyes. Harry was surprised by how _tall_ they were. Far from the teeny creatures in the films, goblins stood at a good four feet easy. They were also a good deal more human looking than expected. Or rather human enough that the differences between them would be more unnerving. Their proportions were slightly different, their skin gleamed as if it wasn't quite the same kind of makeup, they had very long hands and feet and their nails were closer to claws, thick and curving slightly. The singer from _Fantastic Beasts_ was a much closer approximation. Though not quite as fierce looking.

 

“Goblins,” Dumbledore explained in a smooth “teacher voice”. “A very proud and strong race. You should always treat them with respect Harry. Goblins always remember a slight and never leave debts unpaid.”

 

Harry nodded interested in this tidbit. She'd always been more eager to learn about the other cultures in the world. The goblins, the veela, the merpeople, the giants, the centaurs all had different cultures and standards. She thought it was as fascinating as the Wizarding Culture that had been revealed. The goblin bowed as they passed and Dumbledore returned it with one just as deep. Harry copied the behavior instantly and made a note to find out more about goblin culture as soon as possible.

 

Inside were those second silver doors with the famous poem.

 

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there._

 

Harry’s smile turned a little nostalgic at that. She'd always favored rogues in D&D campaigns and the last time she'd heard this particular poem it had led to her character breaking in. After all it was a dare to any rogue with any pride she had argued to her party. The fact the magical item they needed was inside helped her get the moral cleric on her side with the argument “taking from evil is basically being good”.

 

That had been a fun night. Harry felt a stab at the thought of her friends. Now far beyond her reach.

 

She shook her head, shaking the lonely feeling away and bowing to the second set of goblins they passed.

 

Entering the vast marble halls was enough to bring the smile back to her face. A hundred goblins or so were working, sitting on those high stools behind the long counter. She noted the brass scales looked new, but also old fashion, with plates dangling on two ends. There where doors everywhere along the hall and easily a hundred more goblins showing people through those.

 

Dumbledore weaved confidently through the crowd and went straight to an older looking goblin with thick white hair and spectacles, who was writing in a gigantic ledger with a long quill, making additional notes everytime a clerk delivered a slip to him.

 

The goblin did not look up as he said dryly. “The Head Clerk is busy, request a lesser.”

 

“Ah, we have business of a bit of a sensitive nature Master Labingi,” Dumbledore said with a slightly regretful tone, but his eyes twinkled as if he was playing some kind of joke. Harry suspected he was.

 

“I'd like to request Master Banazir for myself, he is my preferred banker and a banker specialising in inheritance for young Mister Potter here.”

 

The goblin, Labingi, looked up at that eyes going over Dumbledore’s disguised face carefully before going to Harry’s and scowled. “You are aware of Gringotts policy on magical disguises.”

 

Dumbledore nodded. “Of course. I understand that the use of such is heavily restricted and professionals such as yourselves understand why certain persons would need a private room before dropping them. The courtesy of goblins is unmatched in business. I trust the gold will flow and guests will be met accordingly as always.”

 

Harry watched fascinated as Labingi relaxed in fractions and dinged a small bell summoning a nearby clerk.

 

“Our vaults are untouched and gold flows smoothly.” Was his response and the rhythm of it made Harry certain it was a mannered response. Like “thank you” or “excuse me”.

 

Dumbledore nodded and Labingi turned to speak to the the clerk in what had to be Gobbledegook.

 

Labingi turned back to them. “Griphook will take you to the Manager and Mr. Potter to a private accountant. I assume you have both keys?”

 

Dumbledore nodded. He drew two keys, a small gold one he passed to Harry and an old large silver one. Harry looked at the small thing and tucked it into her vest pocket.

 

“Good. May your business be concluded swiftly.”

 

Dumbledore hummed as the younger goblin circled and gave a quick bow before leading them off. He caught Harry’s eyes and smiled.

 

“Never thank a goblin. It is either an insult meaning you think their services were only worth that or an invitation for debt. Remain silent, wish for good business, or compliment their work.”

 

Harry filed that away. It almost sounded like goblins used the same rules as traditional fae. That did seem to match some of her research. How much of it was lost in translation she wondered.

 

As they the atrium left she noted the marble hallway they went down was lined with doors, each labelled with runes. They entered the room at the end of the corridor with the most lavish of the doors. Inside was an equally lavish room covered in weapons and jewelry that had to be goblin made each extravagant and gleaming. At a small goblin side desk, a dark smooth obsidian, sat an ancient looking goblin with a long pointed beard, a bald head, and narrow black eyes that seemed to burn with a certain kind of madness. He had the look of someone who could and would kill you rather than put up with foolishness.

 

Dumbledore bowed and Harry quickly copied noting that this time they only received a dipped head for this.

 

“Sit,” a startlingly deep voice ordered waving his hand and causing two chairs to appear, wooden and cushioned with fine velvet, in front of his desk. “And get out of those ridiculous get ups.”

 

His eyes glimmered at that and Harry felt a wand tap her head. She shivered both from those eyes- _dangerous_ -something inside her warned, hairs standing up and face smoothing out and from the sensation of the Transfiguration. The cold dripping feeling went over her again and she felt herself shrinking, her body and hair collapsing on itself, hair darkening and skin lightening to her old pallor. The freckles disappeared off her and she sighed as her hair darkened as it sank back into her head. She glimpsed the no somewhat familiar black out of the corner of her eyes.

 

She rolled her shoulders as her body resettled and wondered at the odd painless sensation. The Polyjuice Potion had been painful hadn't it? But Tonks’s abilitied were painless. Was this so easy because of Dumbledore’s skills or because Transfiguration itself was somehow different from Potions? Thoughts to ponder later she supposed and realized her mouth tasted odd. New taste buds, or old ones, she supposed, reforming.

 

She sat down, copying Dumbledore, and remained quiet. She almost crossed her ankles and sat “ladylike” as her grandmother had trained, but stopped at the last minute. Still the tension in the room kept her legs pressed firmly together and spine straight, hands resting in her lap eyes politely trained ahead.

 

“Better,” the Manager said.

 

Master Banazir, Dumbledore had called him, Harry remembered. His suit was different from the clerks and tellers. She could tell it was higher make and she was fairly certain his gold threading was cloth-of-gold not dyed.

 

His eyes abruptly flickered to hers and Harry’s heart stuttered a little feeling the odd threat he was giving off focused on her. She steadied herself though and met his gaze. She smiled at him and knew it was more akin to an animal baring teeth.

 

He responded in kind. His were pointed. Harry kept her smile firm despite the unnerving nature of this revelation.

 

When Banazir spoke it was with something like approval.

 

“At least you have a spine child. That's more than most of your kind.”

 

Harry sat and didn't comment.

 

Banazir nodded, smile lingering as he faced Dumbledore. Harry felt herself relax a little at that, shoulders loosening and her hands unclenching. She hadn't realized she'd done that.

 

“What did you bother me with today you brat?” Banazir snapped at Dumbledore. “I'm two centuries too old for another tea time visit so it had better be important.”

 

“Of course,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “It is about the Hogwarts vaults.”

 

Banazir’s scowl disappeared at that. “And?”

 

“I need to make a withdrawal.”

 

Harry’s eyes went back and forth, sharply curious at this information. They were staring at each other intently. Hogwarts had its own vaults? And the Headmaster could touch them? What were they for? How did they receive income? How did Hogwarts remain open? Was it a public institute?

 

“We will discuss this when the child is gone.” Banazir decided, breaking quiet eye contact. There was a knock.

 

“Enter,” he barked and Harry craned back to find a slender goblin enter. They were different from the other goblins. Slightly smaller and head smooth, decorated by a golden twirling headpiece that wound in serpentine shapes and circled the forehead like a crown.

 

Banazir glared.

 

“Who sent you?” the older goblin demanded. “We needed an accountant.”

 

“I've been a full accountant for a decade.” the younger goblin responded icily with a pleasant, high voice. “I was told this is a good test for my skills.”

 

“I would have preferred one of our experienced _workmen_.” Banazir responded with just as much acid, dark eyes sharp.

 

“Executive Director disagrees. He sent me.” Was snapped back. This seemed to both mollify and displease Banazir.

 

“This is Kalimac,” Banazir said, turning to Dumbledore and ignoring the other goblin. “ _She_ will be dealing with the child. If he has any questions afterwards bring him here.”

 

Harry noted, Kalimac gave a similar toothy smile at that comment. Ah, sexism, she thought to herself. My old nemesis.

 

“I'm sure she will be as skilled as any.” Dumbledore said calmly.

 

Banazir’s smile was slightly nasty. “One hopes.”

 

Then the goblin turned to Harry and dismissed her with a jerk of his head.

 

Dumbledore stopped her with a small touch face serious. “It will be a simple meeting explaining money and all your parents left you. If you would prefer we can wait and I can accompany you.”

 

Harry considered it for a moment and shook her head giving Dumbledore a reassuring smile. She'd been handling her own banking for a few years after all.

 

“I'll be fine.”

 

He gave her a careful look and then withdrew his hand smiling, but something different in his gaze she couldn't place. “Of course.”

 

Harry went over to Kalimac and after a moment made a point to bow. She looked slightly surprised and bowed back.

 

“You may call me Harry,” she said.

 

Kalimac smiled with something less bloodthirsty. “You may call me Accountant Kalimac.”

 

Harry nodded and followed her out.

 

The office Kalimac led her to was far smaller and at the very end of the hallway. Judging by the other, unoccupied desk, she seemed to share it with someone. The goblin settled in behind the crowded, slightly worn desk and with a wave of her hand the other empty chair moved in front of her. It was just big enough for Harry. Which was a good summary of the low ceiling room. Dumbledore would have been scraping his forehead.

  


“I understand this is an Inheritance Meeting,” Kalimac began all business and straight to the point.

 

Harry nods and wonders what she's been thrown into.

 

“My parents died about ten years ago and as I'm going to Hogwarts I needed to make a withdrawal. I'm not quite sure what an Inheritance Meeting entails, but I'd like a full scope of how much total I have in Gringotts and any additional property linked to my family.”

 

Kalimac nodded. “That is the basic information covered in such meetings. Do you have your key for identification?”

 

Harry passed over the small item, which she inspected carefully before returning. Kalimac then opened a parchment folder on her desk and began flipping through it.

 

“If you would like I can supply copies of your account summaries for your records?” she offered, finger stilling on a page.

 

“Yes, I would.” Harry agreed and another wave had the folder appearing in her hands. She watched amazed as the runes slowly transformed into phonetic English. Goblin magic was awesome, she decided then.

 

“It says here there is a monthly limit of how much you are permitted to withdraw each month of two hundred galleons. Your guardian may file to exceed this and if the reasoning is found reasonable when compared to your parents’ Will it is approved. These withdrawals may only be made from your trust fund and your full inheritance is available upon reaching your majority.” This was all said quickly, but clearly as Kalimac dove in.

 

“Our records indicate,” And here she raised an eyebrow. “That your fund has been untouched since your parents death. Yourself and your guardian have made no withdrawals.”

 

Harry felt her heart pound as something began to form in the back of her mind. “By guardian do you mean Petunia and Vernon Dursley?”

 

Kalimac shook her head with a scowl. “No according to our records your guardian is Sirius Orion Black, Heir of the Black Family.”

 

She waved her hand and more papers appeared she quickly scanned through voice falling into incredulousness. “They also indicate that he has been sentenced in Azkaban Prison for mass murder for the same amount of time and that he was legally appointed your godparent and you his heir upon your birth. The makes you legal heir to all mainline Black Family vaults and property as well. Access will require sending a message to the current Regent of the Family while Master Black is unavailable or verbal acknowledgement from the man witnessed by one Gringotts accountant.”

 

She looked at Harry carefully, “Such a meeting can be requested at your desire.”

 

Harry suppressed an inappropriate grin. So, Sirius could be known to her early. She kept her expression smooth. “Shouldn't someone else be my guardian if he really is a murderer?”

 

“No,” Kalimac answered bluntly. “Guardianship transfers only occur if the subject is a genuine threat to their charge.”

 

“So, he's a killer but he wouldn't hurt me?” Harry reiterated the wheels ticking quickly.

 

“Our magic is never wrong.” Kalimac said firmly.

 

Harry allowed herself a smile and asked, “Would it hold up in Wizarding Court?”

 

Kalimac scowled at that and the candles that helped illuminate the room flickered dangerously.

 

“No,” she answered, voice disdainful. “Only wand magic is considered binding in court. _Human magic_.”

 

Harry sighed, disappointed, but noting this carefully. This was a beautiful jumping point regardless.

 

“Your work is in depth and skilled.” she said, only slightly awkward. Kalimac looked approving and cleared her throat.

 

“The total left in your trust fund is seventy thousand Galleons total worth. Your total net worth is approximately one hundred fifty thousand Galleons. This includes heirlooms, estates, and additional valuables outlined in section three. This is without the estimated resale value of the Potter Lands and the gifts you have received.”

 

Gifts? Estates? Harry’s mind spun. She had known she would not have to worry about money while here, but how much exactly did Little Harry inherit and never learn about.

 

“Gifts?” She settled on asking about after a moment of consideration.

 

“Yes,” Kalimac replied instantly, flipping a few pages. “All mail, gifts, and donations in your name have been received and stored by Gringotts until such time you retrieve them. They have all been legally filed and are free to use.”

 

Kalimac relaxed a moment, face going sly. “It seems some humans understand the proper way to give thanks with gifts. Many valuable heirlooms, weapons, scrolls  and a small estate and townhouse are under your name. As well as a small collection of winged horses your inheritance has been used to pay the upkeep for.”

 

Kalimac paused. “The list begins page seven and ends page fifteen.”

 

Well, Harry thought simply. Just well.

 

It was rather like the President receiving gifts she supposed.

 

“And the estates?” she asked.

 

Kalimac straightened. “Three. A small home in Godric’s Hollow, untouched, thanks to our protection.” Her face went sour. “The Stinchcombe Manor and the Fleamont Cottage. With these come the Potter house-elves. They have, of course, maintained the estates.”

 

“House-elves?” Harry asked unable to hide her surprise. That was unexpected. She was unsure how to address the house-elf issue. She'd loved Dobby and cried when he died. But she wasn't sure how to deal with what was legal slavery of a sapient creature. Although maybe serfdom, not an improvement, was closer?

 

“Yes, Cal and Hal.” Then the young goblin looked her over carefully and said slowly. “They are servants, small weak creatures that bind themselves to wizards services. Say their names and we can settle bonding them to you.”

 

And it gets worse. Harry shifted slightly. Maybe she could do something about after actually talking to them?

 

“Hal? Cal?” she said softly.

 

Two small _pop_ s signalled their arrival. Harry looked into identical big brown eyes. The two house-elves, which were very small it turned out, were both wearing tea towels like a toga with small family crests on them. The only difference between them was the small ribbon worn by the one on the left. The both looked as shocked as hair. The ribbon wearer covered their mouth and the gasp that left them. The other stared at Harry and then frowned before snapping their fingers.

 

Harry felt a small warmth spread starting at her toes and working its way up. When it finished going through her the one on the right gaped.

 

This seemed to confirm something for the ribbon wearer who burst into incomprehensible, loud tears throwing themself into Harry’s lap.

 

“WE THOUGHT YOUSE WAS DEAD!” the high-pitched voice wailed as tiny hands grabbed tightly onto the vest. “GONE LIKE YOUNG MISTRESS LILY AND YOUNG MASTER JAMES!”

 

“Youse alive,” the other said, eyes glittering and voice at a slightly lower pitch though still high. Tears began flowing freely.

 

“There, there?” Harry said, petting the bony creatures back carefully. House-elves looked somewhat like humanoid Devon Rexs, she observed.

 

This got her a louder wail.

 

The one still on the ground did not seem to know what to do repeating that she was alive.

 

Harry looked at Kalimac helplessly. She seemed distinctly unimpressed with her fellow magical creatures and leaned away. Harry sighed and worked on calming down the wailing ribbon wearer. It took some time but eventually the decibels dropped and the small thing curled up in her lap sniffling. They really were startlingly small.

 

“Cal is sorry for getting Young Mas-Young Miss Harry’s shirt wet.” The ribbon wearer said.

 

Harry barely noticed Cal snap their finger, because _holy shit_.

 

Kalimac also seemed to suddenly become interested.

 

“Wes sorry!” The one on the ground, Hal, probably squeaked, cheeks cherry. Harry stared mind reeling.

 

“We only checked because wes didn't know the Young Master was a Young Miss. We last saw Young Miss before she settled.” Hal looked very guilty. “Sometimes wes gets it wrong the first check.”

 

“It's fine?” Harry said, realizing that must mean house-elves can actual check out someone's magic.

 

Hal looked relieved and Cal squirmed out of Harry’s lap to stand. They two quickly bowed and curtsied, rspectively.

 

“I’s the older brother Hal.”

 

“And I’s the little sister Cal.”

 

“Pleased to meet youse, Young Miss.” the said simultaneously.

 

“Well,” Kalimac purred, bringing Harry's attention to her and her sharp gaze. “This is interesting.”

 

 _Yes,_ Harry agreed dryly inside. It was.

 

She straightened she needed to crack down before this got out of control.

 

“Hal, Cal,” the two instantly perked up. “I'd like you two to go back to work like before until I call. Do not tell anyone I'm a miss until I tell you to, okay?”

 

Both nodded and snapped their finger disappearing with wide smiles. Harry was left looking at a smiling accountant.

 

“You know,” Harry said calmly, as she dragged her mind back into control. “I think I'd be more comfortable with another female keeping my secrets and as my permanent accountant.”

 

“Is that so?” Kalimac said teeth sharp.

 

“Oh, yes,” Harry said showing her own. “After all what better fuck you to Banazir than a female bringing back stolen goblin treasure.”

 

Kalimac froze. Her eyes narrowed and Harry saw her hands twitch. “Go on.”

 

“How do you feel about Gryffindor’s Sword?”

 

. . .

 

Harry met Dumbledore at the exit to the atrium with a full bag and a pounding heart. If she’d learned anything today it was goblins were terrifying.

 

 _Especially_ , she thought as the cracked egg feeling drifted over her. _If they were young and ambitious and wanting to step over their superior’s corpse to accomplish their goals. Figuratively._

 

Harry considered. _Maybe figuratively._

 

“Did you have an illuminating meeting?” Dumbledore asked, curiously.

 

Harry thought briefly of the documents she would be going over and then the weight in her hands.

 

“Yep,” she answered cheerfully securing the pouch in the inside pocket of her vest. “Kalimac taught me the conversion rate and how much I can take out each month.”

 

“And you?”

 

Dumbledore smiled mysteriously. “Very productive.” Then he seemed to remember something, letting out a small gasp. “And for you”

 

In his hand was a Hogwarts letter addressed to **Mr. Harry Potter** . Harry took it with a slight stab inside at the wrong name, but eagerly. Under her eyes she saw the **Mr.** flicker to **Miss** and then back as if it couldn't decide. She quickly angled it away from Dumbledore and opened it.

 

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

 

“The shopping list is included as well.” Dumbledore told her and Harry reluctantly unfolded the next page to find it.

 

“Where to first?” she asked.

 

“Wands would be best.” Dumbledore decided after a moment.

 

Harry’s heart fluttered in a pleasant way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much important stuff happens. Like worldbuilding and foreshadowing and whoa this got out of hand. More fun stuff next chapter as we continue in Diagon Alley!


	9. Holly, Yew, and Walnut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while. 
> 
> My inspirations dragged me into an alley and mugged me for all my stray plot bunnies. I've only just got back the wallet with this story's ideas in it.
> 
> But now we get to a pretty key point in the story and some more Canon characters! The next chapter won't take quite as long. (I hope) And it should conclude Diagon Alley and then we are just a jump skip and one plot point to Hogwarts!
> 
> I feel like a few parts came out a little awkward because I'm getting back into Harry's mind, but overall I really needed to finish this so we could continue. I hope you all enjoy!

Once years ago when Harry was had a different name and one friend, she had loved books more than people save her family.

 

 _Harry Potter_ had been her truest and oldest love. She had loved other books, of course. _The Boxcar Children_ had long meant sitting in her mother's lap before bed warm and secure, door locked against the monsters in the house. _Little Women_ had been a first step, the first big book, taken from a library shelf. _The Magic Treehouse_ books were memories of her siblings and her trading the books between them eagerly.

 

But _Harry Potter_ that had been the first time she'd fallen truly in love with a story. She'd devoured all the books she could reading them out of order.

 

It had taken her years to read them all, their library, as poor as everyone else she knew, only had three. Then her Mammee had surprised her with _The Chamber of Secrets_ and each subsequent book was in her hands as soon as possible after the release. She remembered Christmas opening a box and finding _The Half-Blood Prince_ inside. She had been shaking as she opened it thrilled to finally, _finally_ , read the book that had been out for so long. For her twentieth birthday she had gotten a beautiful newly printed copy of them all in one set, no longer piecemealed from yard sales and second hand stores. She had four copies of _The Prisoner of Azkaban_ all gifted with love, knowing she wanted them all but not knowing what she lacked. She had spent a week reading through them. The only book she'd ever gotten on time, if there was such a thing, was the last. Her mother had proudly given it to her within a week of its release.

 

She loved the story, the characters, and the world dearly. Harry was her favorite hero because he was the one she related to the strongest. So, when she learned her first love was being expanded with Pottermore she had been ecstatic. The idea of being Sorted and discovering a wand had lit her on fire.

 

When she had taken the test though she had surprised even herself by getting the same wand as her hero. At the time she had never spoken about her anxiety, her depression, her nightmares, or her panics. No one knew those thoughts. It hurt her in some strangely nice way to see that she shared something with her hero. It was silly, but there was something comforting about it even as she didn't believe it could be true.

 

She was not good enough to be a hero. But maybe, maybe one day she could be.

 

. . .

 

Harry stared at Ollivanders with a small tremor in her hands. She kept trying to grin, but then faltering slightly as her stomach did nervous little flips. Dumbledore entered without hesitation and she found herself trailing after his shadow, eyes wide taking in the store. It was cool enough to make her rub her arms and the intellectual part of her wondered if it was like archive storage. She had a quick nostalgic memory of nights spent in the library doing research. Perhaps it was the same principle. If some of the wands really were quite old, certain temperatures and light exposure could be damaging? So a cool temperature and dim building the sunlight not quite reaching the counter or hundreds of boxes stacked behind it going off in the distance.

 

She found herself going quiet and adjusting her stance, legs together, back straight, and politely clasped hands in front of her. ‘Proper’ in a way only churches and museums inspired. A sort of bigger weight held this shop hostage stilling the air and any of Harry’s questions.

 

“Albus Dumbledore,” a voice like dust in old books called out.

 

Harry didn't jump, but it was a near thing. She turned towards the voice and found startling silver eyes. She thought maybe those round eyes had been compared to the moon in the books, but looking into them she didn’t see the yellow hint of the moon. She saw gleaming silver-white fish scales reflecting beautiful colors when the sun hit them like living opals. They were unnervingly observant, but distant.

 

Harry blushed realizing she was staring into his eyes and ducked her head. She heard a soft huffing noise that took her a moment to recognize as a laugh.

 

“I believe my grandfather sold your wand,” he said towards Dumbledore.

 

“Yes,” the older man replied. “Gerbold said it was the last he sold before Gervaise took over. Elm and phoenix feather. It served me well.”

 

“I don't recognize the one you use. Another maker?” Ollivander asked and there was something lightly disapproving at that.

 

“A foreigner,” Dumbledore said smooth as could be. “I doubt you would even recognize him. Not many do.”

 

Harry supposed, a little amused, most people don't recognize Death until it is suddenly upon them. Ollivander made a little hum that she recognized as a ‘ _sounds fake but fine_ ’ one if she'd ever heard one. The man was distinctly unimpressed by Dumbledore’s lack of customer loyalty it seemed. She had to suppress a laugh at the idea of a ‘ _Ollivander Greatly Disapproves_ ’ meme.

 

Then the man’s silvery gaze was focused again on her and she reflexive straightened once more.

 

“And you have brought the young Potter with you.” Ollivander said in his dreamy dusty-book voice.

 

Tonks she could understand. Metamorphmagus was an explanation. Goblins, of course, had their own sorts of magic. Three times was just odd. Though Ollivander was always an odd character in the books. Not necessarily good or evil he'd always seemed True Neutral to her. And a bit like Luna Lovegood in that slightly in another world sort of manner.

 

Ollivander hadn't taken his shining eyes off her and she felt an odd shiver go through her. True Sight was not a thing in the Wizarding World, right?

 

“I thought I'd be seeing you soon.” Ollivander said softly focused intently on her face. “It seems only yesterday your parents were in here buying their first wands. Your mother’s was ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charms work.”

 

Harry stood her ground meeting the gaze as the man shuffled closer.

 

“Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it--it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course.”

 

The man was shifting closer now beginning to cross that invisible bubble of personal space when Harry lifted up her hand.

 

“That is quite enough thank you.” she snapped, tone broking no argument. The man paused startled out of his focus at the abrupt sternness. He had been just about to speak, hand outstretched and reaching for her forehead.

 

“While this is fascinating, I appreciate a bit more space with people I do not know. Especially unfamiliar adults.” she told him. She was using the same cool tones that always shoot down aggressive customers and flirts.

 

“My apologies,” he said instead. “Perhaps we should begin then. Wand arm?”

 

Harry nodded holding out her right and felt the excitement return as Ollivander was distracted by a different task.

 

He moved back he gave her a careful look over as the tape measure shot towards her with a snap of his fingers.

 

Dumbledore settled into the spindly chair off to the side to wait with a serene smile as Harry was assaulted by an overeager measuring tape. Ollivander lingered a few moments offering her the familiar explanations of how his family’s wands were made and what of. Eventually though he seemed satisfied and head off towards the stacks, mumbling to himself.

 

When the tape measure decided it needed the length of her eyelashes she gave it a small swat. It straightened up and began to take a bit more normal measurements such as bust, waist, and hips. It hopeful went for her nostrils but a threatening hand had it wrapping around her fingers with a downright sulking air. That was interesting. She'd known everyday objects that were imbued with magic developed personalities of their own. Just look at the Ford Anglia, but exactly how far did it go? Were they sentient? Or even more, sapient? She’d had long debates with her friends about the subtle difference between the two.

 

Ollivander appeared with a small box and a soft, “Enough.” had the tape measure returning to his hand.

 

“Maple wood, unicorn hair core, eleven inches,” he informed her presenting it with a flourish. It was rather long a light brown and with a darker brown handle covered in geometric shapes.

 

She wasn't sure what she expected, especially after having had her odd experience with the Elder Wand.

 

She just hadn't expected to feel _nothing_.

 

She felt the dubious expression on her face as the wand in her hand felt awkward and ungainly, like she was just holding a stick. Ollivander watched carefully and Harry sighed beginning to move the wand.

 

It was snatched from her hand almost immediately, Ollivander shaking his head. He quickly dove back into the shelves and brought out a new one. This time it was a warm golden color and had small swirls on the handle. It was distinctly shorter than the other.

 

“Larch wood, phoenix feather, odd combination, nine inches, rather flexible.”

 

She barely touched it before this too was snatched away. Harry sighed and watched as the stack grew more and more and with it Ollivander’s excitement. Hers unfortunately begin to plummet as not a single wand had lit so much as a spark inside her. They were all _wrong_.

 

What if she couldn't get the holly and phoenix wand? She wasn't Little Harry and she was unsure what she'd do if she didn't get it for him. It was _Harry Potter’s wand_. She would have failed him in some way if she did not get it.

 

“Ah,” Ollivander said coming back with a rather old looking box and a pleased smile. “One of my best if I do say so. The tree was the favorite napping ground of a rather temperamental hippogriff I learned too late.”

 

It was a fine reddish grain ending in a smooth handle. She traced the designs of gentle Celtic knots that braided together at the base.

 

“Rowan wood, phoenix feather, eleven and a half inches, a bit temperamental at times, but rather flexible,” he informed her with an almost literal skip in his step as he handed it off.

 

Not expecting much Harry took it.

 

And paused.

 

It was warm.

 

Her stomach plummeted even as her heart gave a small answering warmth. For just a moment she thought she smelt her mother’s perfume and her heart felt stabbed.

 

Ollivander looked thoughtful.

 

Seeing as he did not immediately take it Harry hesitantly gave the wand a small wave.

 

There was a soft golden light that lingered in the air when she moved like afterimages.

 

It felt like something hard was moving up her throat.

 

“Hm,” Ollivander said.

 

“Not quite. Almost though.”

 

The tension left her in a quick burst. She weakly passed the wand off. Unlike the others he left this one slightly to the side, before disappearing.

 

When he came back something felt different. Not so much in the air, but his posture. He had treated all his wands with care, but this one he held with a certain kind of reverence. There was something focused in his posture like a hunting dog who had caught a scent. There was something seemingly pointed in how he didn't look at Dumbledore as he opened the box.

 

It looked nothing like the wand from the movies.

 

Harry knew though. This was it. The famous wand. The brother to Voldemort’s.

 

“Holly wood, phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.” Ollivander told her cheerfully.

 

The room felt hot all of the sudden and a thousand doubts ran through Harry’s head.

 

Her hands shook slightly as she reached for the wand.

 

It _sang_.

 

It was a sweet ethereal sound that wasn't quite out loud, but echoed through her. It wasn't like with the Elder Wand. That wand had been friendly, an old acquaintance catching up. This wand felt like it was saying _Mine_. It was welcoming her home after a long time away. Harry let out a relieved breathe, eyes slightly damp with it, and smiled as she confidently gave it a small wave. A rain of green, blue, and red sparks flew out as the song seemed to peek inside her as she felt, for the second time and a much more wonderful way, magic flow.

 

“Hello,” Harry whispered and her eyes felt wet with relief and something else. It was the same odd tight feeling she’d felt with that first Pottermore quiz. This wand choosing her felt like the grandest compliment in the world.

 

 _Thank you_ , she thought towards the song and enjoyed the lingering feeling of magic tingling in her finger tips. She was smiling so widely it hurt, but had no intention of stopping.

 

“Oh, bravo! Yes, very good…” Ollivander cheered, reminding Harry that she actually had an audience.

 

“Congratulations,” Dumbledore told her warmly, coming to stand beside her.

 

“Curious though, very curious…” Ollivander said, taking the wand from Harry’s grasp and beginning to to wrap it.

 

Dumbledore’s expression sharpened and Harry stared at the man as well, waiting for the announcement that would further the connection between Little Harry and Voldemort. Ollivander kept his eyes on her, examining and wondering, as he carefully wrapped the wand.

 

“Garrick?” Dumbledore asked, a protective hand falling on Harry’s shoulder. Ollivander’s gaze left hers to settle on the Headmaster and then flickered back.

 

“I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Young Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather--just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother--why, its brother gave you that scar.”

 

Dumbledore’s grasp tightened and Harry heard the soft inhale beside her, feeling the tension go up through the man’s arm. Ollivander though kept his curious focus on her reaction.

 

She felt the urge to smile as those words, those famous words, spoken in that soft awed voice with such inappropriate, but unashamed fascination sent a soft shiver through her to hear in person even as it made her want to shed away. She always smiled at uncomfortable moments. Knowing Lily as she did now, feeling more connected to her hearing such fascination with the young woman’s murder spoken to her dead child felt _horribly inappropriate_. Seeing it in person made her suddenly glad and grateful that Little Harry would not have to see it. She had a few degrees of separation and for the poor boy it was no wonder he decided he did not like Ollivander.

 

She kept her face carefully, steadily blank.

 

“Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizards, remember….I think we must expect great things from you, Young Potter….After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things--terrible, yes, but great.”

 

This seemed to be too much for Dumbledore. She felt him straighten up to his full current height, still towering over Ollivander and he barked out and order with the deep commanding voice of a general, cutting down the soft awe and eager expression with one word.

 

“ **_Enough._ ** ” The voice roared and Harry felt herself tremble slightly as the room did as well. The lights flickered briefly and she felt something almost physical come off of Dumbledore with the command.

 

Ollivander instantly backed off, actually taking several large steps away and looking up at Dumbledore eyes wide.

 

“How much is Harry’s total?” Dumbledore asked cooly and grip firm, but gentle.

 

Ollivander swallowed, but answered without shaking. “Seven galleons. But I would recommend taking the rowan wand as well. It is an excellent back up wand. Young Potter may not be looking to become a dueller currently, but even the everyday witch or wizard may find having one useful. It is rare to see two wands connect well with someone.”

 

“I’ll take it.” Harry said, voice soft, but heard before Dumbledore could speak. Ollivander nodded and quickly wrapped up the purchases. Dumbledore was the one who passed over the money, his cold presence and looming figure preventing any possible commentary from Ollivander beside the recommendation of wand hostlers, which Dumbledore conceded were useful and Harry quickly purchased. They were one size fits all, adjusting to their wearers measurements.

 

Dumbledore had the purchases rang up and herded Harry out the door, before Ollivander could finish bowing to them.

 

The entire time he kept his grip on her, which only increased her own tension. She allowed him to lead her through Diagon Alley, sensing his distress like something brushing against the back of her neck. A cold irritant. His grip loosened as _Ollivanders_ disappeared from sight and he gently coaxed her into a mostly empty tea shop called _Fortuna Sisters’ Teas_.

 

It was a small, quiet place inhabited mostly by elderly and dreamy looking individuals. Dumbledore led her to back table hidden mostly by the shelving on both side covered in fortune telling books and plants. It smelled of fresh tea and plants and the dark coloring and homey air, it felt a bit like someone’s house with the soft arm chairs and knickknacks about, mixed in the moving night sky on the ceiling reminded her oddly of her grandmother’s home. Taking a sit across from Dumbledore, she smoothed swirls on her legs and waited not quite looking at him.

 

The tension slowly began to ease out of him and as two cups were brought to them by a silver haired woman in a long blue dress with swirling silver patterns he seemed to relax completely.

 

“I apologize for the abruptness and Garrick’s manners. The man sometimes allows his love of his work to forget to consider the people involved.” Dumbledore looked up at her and his black haired form looked so very old under the disguise, his eyes wary and sad. “I am sorry you had to hear such a thing.”

 

Harry nodded, eyes looking down and grabbing her own cup. There was some irony in that she was carefully ignoring considering Dumbledore’s own track record of manipulation and the scenes with Snape seemed especially to stand out. She took a sip to give herself time to think. At the first sip she was surprised as always to find herself enjoying it. Then the taste registered.

 

“Chocolate?” she asked out loud. Dumbledore chuckled seeming to lighten slightly at her surprise.

 

“Is that so mine seems to be a mix of lavender and vanilla.” he told her with a small smile. “I do enjoy _Fortuna’s_. It’s greatest charm is the sisters make the tea blend they believe their customers need. Always a calming place to think and converse.”

 

Harry could see that and took another sip. It was warm and a little nutty, but still very much a chocolate taste to it and perhaps a little vanilla. She felt the heat of it and the soothing taste easing something in her as well and wondered if there wasn’t a little magic in the cup as well.

 

“Are you alright?” Harry asked and Dumbledore’s expression turned startled and a little touched.

 

“I believe that should be something I am asking.” Dumbledore told her softly. “But yes, I am well. It was simply a reminder of my own connection to the tragedies that occurred as well.”

 

Harry glanced up, stopping at Dumbledore’s nose.

 

“It is my familiar Fawkes who gave the feathers for the wands. I had always told Garrick to inform me when they find there matches, a bit of curiosity on my part. I was informed the day he received his wand and I sometimes think, perhaps irrationally on my part, if I had not agreed to let Garrick make his request of Fawkes that there would not have been such damage during the War.” Dumbledore gave her an ironic smile. “In a way I sometimes feel I gave him the tool he used to hurt others. If he had a wand not so inclined to him, one from a less powerful creature than Fawkes, mayhaps he could have accomplished less.”

 

There was something honest in those words. A sort of human irrationality that people who think to much dig themselves into and for someone who thought as much of their own actions as Dumbledore it fit.

 

It also felt not a little like he was setting something up.

 

Harry had always been unable to resist the distress of someone she liked--as much as she found his actions questionable and wanted to smack him and had at times resented the Hell out of him--she did like Dumbledore. She could not hold the same rage as her friends did over the man. There was something complex and compelling about him and she liked him as a character and now as a person even as she was intimidated by him.

 

She offered the same comfort she did her friends when they got caught up in illogical loops.

 

“That doesn’t make sense. The wand didn’t make him choose to kill. It’s a tool . If he’d had a different one it is still his chooses on how to use it. By the same logic you should be blaming Fawkes for offering the feather or the man who invented wands.” Harry told him critically. “In this instance you and Mr. Ollivander did not know how the wand would be used so you can’t be held responsible.”

 

 _Offering a feather is not your sin. Failing to offer a hand to guide would be more apt_. Harry kept silent on that part though forcing her saltiness away.

 

“Thank you, Harry,” Dumbledore’s voice was soft, but there was something thoughtful in his tone. “It is true a connection does not beget responsibility. Just as sharing a trait would not make you destined to follow the same path.”

 

 _Ah, there it is._ Dumbledore had made assumptions about the reason behind her discomfort. Wrong ones, but there. This was some kind of reverse psychology trip to make her reason out for herself that having Voldemort’s brother wand did not make the insecure eleven year old he assumed her to be an evil bastard. It was a kind of twisted attempt at comfort.

 

“No, it doesn’t.” she agreed after a moment and took another sip.

 

Dumbledore nodded seeming pleased by how calm she looked and her agreement. They relaxed then, drinking tea, and conversing softly about what to do next and a bit more about Hogwarts. Dumbledore also helped her to fasten on the wand hostlers and explained the proper way to use them. The rowan wand, giving her a quick little warmth as a hello when she touched it, was attached to her left leg, opposite of the dominant hand much look a sword. The holly one went on the wrist and Dumbledore helped her do some stretches and practice the motion to draw it getting used to the unfamiliar weight there.

 

He did admit he was not familiar with the finer aspects of duelling and using wand holsters and offhandedly mentioned “a professor who was a champion duelist”. Harry knew instantly who he meant and made a mental note to talk to Flitwick after coming up with a reasonable reason she would know about his past. Or maybe McGonagall. She was still considering how exactly to convince the Hat to put her in Gryffindor or even if she could. If she succeeded the woman seemed like she’d know a bit about duelling as well.

 

“Books,” Harry said firm and unrelenting. If she didn’t get to spend a good few hours in _Flourish and Blotts_ absorbing the atmosphere of a _magical book store_ and stocking up on anything she could get her hands on she would riot.

 

Dumbledore chuckled, paid for their tea, and they left.

 

. . .

 

No dire proclamations accompanied them through next few hours, two of which was spent entirely exploring books shelves. Dumbledore had barely kept sight of her as she happily through herself into _Flourish and Blotts_. The first half was spent practically skipping through the rows, learning the arrangement and scanning titles. Her school books were found quickly. The shop had a bundle prepared in the window for first years, which she picked up on her way to the Fiction Section.

 

Her discovery that the Wizarding World did have a rather nice collection of Fiction, from novels to short stories to plays to comics, almost made her dance. Only the crowd, and mostly a lack of room to flail happily as she wanted to, stopped her. She resigned herself to a quick happy clap and began critically examining them. Finding out there were _Magical Romance Books_ led to another happy wiggle and a very bemused Dumbledore steering her pointedly away as she “accidentally” made her way to the erotica section. She was curious and was not ashamed of this fact. She grabbed a few of the Fifi LaFolle books, recognizing the _Enchanted Encounters_ series. She would defend the Romance genre to her last breath for a myriad of reasons covered in her senior thesis and was happy to be adding the more “fun” reading to her lists. She also grabbed a _Martin the Mad Muggle_ comic and three best sellers that looked interesting, both for pleasure and a bit of cultural study.

 

The history section also lured her in quickly. She’d always loved history and the alternate and magical history of this world just gave her a brand new ground to explore. She only reluctantly managed to calm herself enough to grab books that had practical purposes as well as recreational. To Dumbledore it must have seemed an odd mix, but she knew it also made it more difficult to see any pattern. _Hogwarts: A History_ was a must. She’d wanted to read it since it was mentioned in the book and it was a great disappointment to her that it was not among the school books J. K. wrote. She also gathered up _The Decline of Pagan Magic, Modern Magical History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century, Important Modern Magical Discoveries, Extraordinary Trials in History: A Revised Edition,_ and a few others.

 

She would have gotten more, but a soft reminder that she had other supplies to purchase and limited space prevented her. She was able to get the information of and extendable book bag out of Dumbledore that allowed her more leeway.

 

She decided to add _The Travel Trilogy_ by Lockhart, which contained three of his books, for both a laugh and the way Dumbledore gently tried to coax her into a different book without seeming to degrade it. He looked almost pained when she bought it, which only heightened her amusement. She only bought a few more after that, adding in some books about law and two books about etiquette written by some of the Sacred Twenty-Eight that made Dumbledore speak up again. She kept them though, firm about her chooses. It was best to learn more about the culture she was interacting with after all. The etiquette books were a good distraction from _Unobscuring Occlumency: A Beginners Guide_ she had sandwiched in between.

 

When they got to check out the clerk looked at her three towers of book and special _Flourish and Blotts_ pre-expanded leather bag with wide eyes and had to lean over them to see her face. She grinned widely and gleeful placed the stack in her bag. She was pleased to find the Feather Light Charm the bag promised worked and sighed happily. If only she’d had such a charm at the end of semester in college. She wouldn’t have been the odd one arriving with a literally suitcase to return all her books. She was notorious in the library for her check out list and held the record for most _pages_ full. She had always enjoyed research and reading and had the bad habit of reading multiple books simultaneously.

 

She knew she was giving Little Harry a bit of a misleading reputation with these purchases, but she hoped it could be excused as a desire to be eager to learn about the new world. She’d tone it down at Hogwarts, but she decided she was allowed this one selfish choice and would apologize for the money spent in her next letter. She was sure the books information and the way it furthered her plans would be helpful for Little Harry anyway.

 

Harry floated through the next few purchases with a wide grin as they gathered up her equipment only pausing for an occasional anecdote or cultural explanation from Dumbledore. It wasn’t until they arrived at the Madame Malkins, Dumbledore briefly excusing himself to go order a few pieces for himself that anything remarkable occured.

 

Harry was almost disappointed to find the complete lack of a white-blonde head as she allowed herself to be ordered around by the amiable Madame Malkin. The shop seemed to be having a slow period and the woman filled the silence easily. Harry looked around the shop curiously and a few soft questions led to an interesting and informative introduction to Wizarding fashion completel with recommendations of magazines and example pieces being dragged out. Madame Malkin seemed to deeply enjoy having someone seem genuinely interested in her work and the brief break was filled with her enthusiastic explanations. Harry didn’t mind, subject were always more interesting when the speaker loved them, and besides it reminded her of conversations with Cherry.

 

Cherry was one of her youngest friend’s and she’d taken them under her wing to the point it was their fault Harry was called “Momma” and “Grandmom” by their group. Cherry had gotten up the courage to become a fashion and merchandise major their sophomore year and the transformation that had come over them had been wonderful to see. They smiled more, laughed, and loved talking about their work. Harry had never been into fashion beyond a distant appreciation for “oh that’s pretty” and a love of _America’s Next Top Model_ and _Project Runway_ , but she’d wanted to encourage Cherry and had her curiosity had been itched by glancing over the school books Cherry used when they studied at her apartment. It led to several binging research drives and the habit of sending Cherry articles and pictures of interesting fashion history related things she saw.

 

Madame Malkin’s enthusiasm and talks about “A line” and “warlock cut” took her back to those conversations. It was nice in the painful way thinking of home always was.

 

It almost made her miss one of Madame Malkin’s assistant nervously entering the room. The witch took the interruption easily enough and sent her mockups back to their cases with a wave of her wand. Harry was left with a promise to return quickly and magical pins adjusting around her.

 

It took an oddly long time for the woman to return and when she did it was with a considerably sunken mood and a small shadow walking behind her with a ridiculously arrogant look. Harry had to resist to the urge to grin like a shark as _Draco Malfoy_ took the spot beside her.

 

Madame Malkin had her lips pressed as she told “Mister Malfoy” that she needed to finish up first. The boy huffed and the woman turned on him dismissively before he could say anything. The great sulk on his face was amazing and Harry bit back a laugh as she could almost see the _My father will hear about this_ on his face. The boy very pointedly turned away from her, completely ineffectual in truth, and looked at Harry with a carefully bored expression, even as a black robe slipped over him with a quick wave from the fashion witch.

 

The brief flicker of uncertainty made Harry realize she hadn’t completely suppressed her shark grin and she quickly softened it, composing herself. It took only a split second for her to decide that maybe, she could indulge herself a little. Her expression transformed into a more gentle aristocratic expression.

 

“Hello,” she said mirroring the words Malfoy wouldn’t get to speak. “Hogwarts, too?”

 

“Of course,” the boy answered in a bored, drawling tone eyeing her carefully and noting the Muggle pants and decorations. “It is really the only place for a proper British Wizard.”

 

“Well,” Harry said lightly. “There is always Durmstrang if you do not mind the cold. Beauxbatons is also excellent. Lovely grounds and such a rich history.”

 

This seemed to throw the boy a little and she could see him doing a few quick acrobatics at tying to place her, eyes looking at her red hair intently.

 

“My father did consider sending me to Durmstrang.” Malfoy offered watching her reaction, despite how bored he was trying to look. “He felt Dumbledore was taking away traditions from Hogwarts. They decided on Hogwarts in the end. All of the family has been there for generations.”

 

“How interesting.” she offered mildly. “Do you have an idea of which house you will be in?”

 

The boy showed a brief flicker of annoyance as her gentle mask and smile never faltered and quickly began in an arrogant voice. “Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I’ll be in Slytherin, all our family have been--imagine being in Hufflepuff. I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?”

 

“Oh, I wouldn’t underestimate Hufflepuffs.” Harry said with a knowing tone. “They are rather notoriously vicious fighters after all and great finders.” she paused and looked at him ‘thoughtfully’. “Besides you already are showing some lovely Puff characteristics. Loyalty is so important! And you want to stick to your family’s house it’s so admirable!”

 

The look of horror on his face was a true delight.

 

She kept going before he could catch himself again. “I suppose I would fit in well with Hufflepuff. My sister always says I am the most Huffliest Puff she’s every met! Slytherin is very nice, of course,” she rushed to ‘assure’ him. “I just doubt I’d fit in there. It’s a bit, well, stuffy down under the lake after all and besides there are those _rumors_ you know?”

 

Malfoy looked like he didn’t know rather to insult her or continue to sputter ‘huffliest’ to himself, instead he said, gasped really in is indignation. “ _Rumors?_ ”

 

Harry looked at him brightly, voice perky. “Why of the secret initiation of course! My sister was a Slytherin you see and she told me about it, you’re not supposed to, of course. Tradition about letting other snakes learn for themself and all! But we all know I won’t go there so she saw no harm!”

 

“Initiation?” Malfoy asked, looking at her as if she’d gone mad.

 

Harry nodded eagerly. “Well you can hardly call yourself a proper Slytherin if you don’t earn your spot. Ambition is an important trait and involves quite a bit of work.” She leaned forward as if trying to be secretive and Malfoy responded instinctively leaning with her.

 

“The secret to proving yourself as a Slytherin is to successfully prank the Prefect selected that year. It proves your cunning and planning. The more elaborate the better. It shows ambition. Of course, most first years don’t succeed. My sister told me that those that do go down as legends.” Harry quietly looked around and dropped her voice. “Apparently Narcissa Black actually managed to never get caught. The only reason everyone knows it was her, was because she smiled at just the right moment. Lucius Malfoy, of course, is rather famous for not only succeeding, but never being caught in one during his tenure. Let me see, sister also mentioned a few others. There was Leta Lestrange with the doxies and Thaddeus Nott with that surprising use of the Floating Charm! It really does sound like quite fun!”

 

Malfoy gave her a sharp suspicious look. “If it’s such a secret why would you tell me? And why wouldn’t I have heard?”

 

Harry made sure to give him the most innocently confused look possible.

 

“Well, because I want to be friends silly! Sister says friends are the people who know all your secrets and you know theirs! A bit odd way of putting it, but she’s always been odd.” she told him cheerful. “It’s supposedly a terribly important secret and not even our mother warned her about it!”

 

Harry paused and looked distressed. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

 

Malfoy know looked as if he was thoroughly convinced of her idiocy. Harry looked at him pleading.

 

“Don’t say I told you! You’re supposed to figure it out on your own and sis will be really mad if anyone finds out I told she told!”

 

Malfoy still looked doubtful, but there was something considering in his face that made her hopeful. His expressions had been fun enough, but if he actually believed her…

 

Malfoy smiled, but it was a disdainful patronizing thing he clearly thought she wouldn’t notice. “Of course not.”

 

“Oh thank you!” Harry said and grabbed his hands, startling the boy and making him grimace. “I can tell we’ll be great friends!”

 

Madame Malkin, who had thus far been silent, snorted, but quickly covered it with a cough and straightened. Malfoy was struggling to pull his hands out has startling to go pink with annoyance.

 

“Your done now,” the fashion witch quickly interrupted, voice amused.

 

Harry released Malfoy and slipped the fitted robe off in a smooth movement assisted by the woman’s magic. She was skipping across the room before Malfoy could fully process it.

 

“Wait!” the boy shouted. “What’s your name!”

 

“Bye,” Harry answered and quickly rounded the corner out of sight letting off a laugh as she rushed to the front. She heard a very distinct frustrated noise behind her and suppressed some giggles with her fist.

 

She didn’t see the woman coming towards her until they pumped into each other. Harry jerked back, stumbling away as her face met soft breasts.

 

She gasped and apology on her lips even as she looked up at the woman’s face.

 

“I’m so sorr-” the apology died in her throat as she took an a tall, gorgeous witch towering over her like a queen.

 

She had a full head of thick black hair, heavy lidded dark eyes, that looked down at Harry disdainfully, and a full sensual mouth. Her face was gorgeous in a handsome strong way. Her figure full and shown to its best in her robes she looked the opposite of the English beauty of her sister. She was a dark, dangerous warrior beauty, whose sharp eyes promised destruction to those who displeased her.

 

There was only one woman she could be.

 

“Bellatrix,” Harry breathed out, insides chilling as she looked into the full untarnished beauty of Bellatrix Lestrange and not a single person watching the scene screamed.

 

The woman looked as if she had been readying herself to rip Harry apart stilled and her entire body went predatory, dark eyes looking at her with interest.

 

Bellatrix gave Harry a charming slow smile of a society lady with the eyes of a serpent prepared to strike.

 

“Have we met?”

 

Harry wanted to scream.


End file.
